Riley's Choice
by mangesboy01
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Oakley Timmons, who lives in the luscious woods of District 7 along with his family, which is already broken due to death, regards his life as over when he's reaped for the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. But can he win? What will he do when he's faced with the choices, fight verses flight, or kill or be killed? Will humanity fade as survival kicks in?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. But I did create the protagonist for this story as he is my own original creation. :) **

**A/N: A special thanks is due to many for helping me with this chapter. First, my cousin who has helped me from the beginning (she is an amazing editor.) Next, I would like to thank IceVeinsVillian, who was my faithful Beta Reader (please go check him out because he is an amazing writer.) Finally, I would like to thank luvakatsuki3 (another amazing writer that you should go check out) because she gave me suggestions from a reader's point a view, which was very helpful.**

**Read, review, but most importantly enjoy! :)**

**Part 1 **

**Chapter 1 **

"Thump!", "Thump!", "Thump!" With each swing more sweat drips down my face. Finally, after a few more cuts to the log of wood, I stop and catch my breath. I hear footsteps and to my surprise, I see Mrs. Willows hobbling my way. Sometimes cutting her wood gets tedious, but then I remember the woman who was unstable just a few years ago. It seemed that Mr. Willows did everything for her. He cut the wood, raised the animals, even put food on the table. Mr. Willows lived a _long_ life, well until the age of seventy-three, which I consider _long_ in our district. I can't help but smile as the wrinkled figure gets closer. Even though cutting wood is tiresome, I still enjoy it. I love how the scent of lumber creeps up into my nostrils. The way my muscles flex as my palm grips the handle. I even love the thumping noise that most people find irritating. I lay down the sleek axe and wrap my filthy hands around the tetchy bundle of wood. As I approach her, I hold out the freshly cut logs.

"Is this enough Mrs. Willows?"

"Yes dear that's more than enough for an old woman."

I nod, then I walk over and place the bale of wood on her rugged porch. Stepping back, and observing the heap of logs, pride washes over me. I know if my father saw this, he would be proud. My father is a lumberjack or what I call a woodcutter. He works in the pines for up to eight to ten hours a day. He would come home dripping with sweat, and his hands bleeding from open sores. When I was young, I used to cringe at the sight of the flesh peeling from his hands. I didn't understand how his skin could look so ragged. That was before I experienced the harsh labor myself. I tread back over to where Mrs. Willows is standing, her wooden cane wobbling as it holds her fragile frame steady. Speaking of my father, I almost forgot.

"Mrs. Willows, my father said it's going to get pretty chilly tonight, so you might want to double the amount of firewood." She looks at me with gratitude then hands me a stained wool cloth, an incentive, for me to wipe my sweaty forehead.

"Oakley, will you tell your father I said thank you for the warning," says Mrs. Willows.

"Yes ma'am," I answer.

"Thanks dear," says Mrs. Willows, "O' and Oakley."

"Yes, Mrs. Willows."

"Thank you for cutting my wood today."

"You're welcome Mrs. Willows. Just let me know if there's anything else I can help you with." I pick up the ax, readying myself for the next task.

"I will, but as for today, you've done enough," says Mrs. Willows as she motions me to hand over the ax.

I started helping Mrs. Willows when Mr. Willows died. I was on my way home when I passed by her house. I'd passed her house every day, never once stopping. This day something seemed different. That something was a bony woman, with matted grey hair and tear stained eyes, holding an ax and chopping violently at a rotted old stump. With each swing more tears flooded down her cheeks. I found it baffling that an elderly woman was outside trying to cut wood. Watching the old lady struggle nearly broke my heart and so from then on, I dedicated myself to her service.

When I'd finished a given task, Mrs. Willows would often offer a gift as payment. I thought the gesture was kind but I wouldn't accept. As time progressed forward, she continued to offer and I continued to decline. Well this dance went on until one day, when Mrs. Willows offered me a dozen eggs. I refused her gift immediately. I couldn't take eggs from an old woman. On that day, Mrs. Willows decided that she'd had enough of my polite declines and simply screamed, "Boy take these eggs!" So from that day on, I accepted her gifts no questions asked.

Speaking of gifts, I wonder what gift she will give me today. Will it be a vegetable from her deprived garden or maybe an egg or two from the rundown, wooden chicken pen out back? I try to think of more gifts she could possibly give, but the sparkling reflection of the ax catches my attention. Man does that thing glisten in the sunlight. It is so beautiful. Yet, never have I seen another ax in such polished condition. I have always wondered where she found such a striking creation. Starring at the shiny ax, I candidly blast out, "That's a nice ax you have Mrs. Willows, was it your husband's?"

What did I just say! Never have I mentioned her husband! What was I thinking? How could I be so blunt? What if she breaks down again?

Anxiously waiting for an answer, I curiously watch as she looks down, studying the ax, rubbing her bony fingers up and down the leather handle. What's she thinking? Is she going to cry? Are the memories she had with her husband trapped inside that blade of perfection?

"Why yes it was," she chuckles, "It seems like just yesterday he was walking in from the pines, his face covered with sweat and grim. In his hands he carried his raggedy water canteen and that ax. O' how he loved that thing." A modest smile spreads across her creased rose-colored lips. It's obvious that she loved the man. I hope to one day find a love like that, though I strongly doubt I will. The only thing people seem to find here is fear.

"It's in beautiful condition Mrs. Willows," I say, my eyes drifting along the sharp, yet beautiful, blade.

Looking at the polished ax, the image of my ax at home appears. I hate that wretched thing. The blade is blunt, and it takes me nearly an hour to cut one piece of wood. My father often jokes that using a blunt ax will help me develop muscles. He acts as if I don't have any. If he can't tell, I'm not scrawny anymore. Those days are over. If being blunt wasn't enough to make me hate it, just add the fact that it gives my palms fiery red blisters. The last time I used the thing, I had to soak my hands in salt water because my mom feared I would get an infection. The burning was excruciating, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the hideous scabs and scars that came from the sores. All the girls here find it gross that my hands are covered with calluses, but I find that it gives them character.

"It was a gift from his father the day of his first reaping," says Mrs. Willows, faintly.

As embarrassment flushes my cheeks I look down to the ground. How could I be so ignorant as to stir up those memories about her husband? Memories only bring you pain during times like these. I jump when I feel lean fingers coil around my shoulder.

"Here, I believe my husband would've liked for you to have this," says Mrs. Willows.

I stand there speechless as she slips the ax into my filthy palm. What do I say? I do not deserve this. This ax was her husband's prized possession.

"Thank you," I say, my words surprising me. I guess I'm not so speechless after all.

Just then, the sharp sound snaps through the air. I flinch as I remember last year's Games. The image of our two tributes dying along with eight others in the bloodbath. To many in the district they were just empty faces or nameless tributes but to me, they were Jag and Lydia.

Jag was in my grade of school, and he was quiet, really quiet. He was also really thin and frail, but that was only because his family had so many mouths to feed. A family of eight in District 7 doesn't live too comfortably during this day and time. Lydia was our neighbor, Mr. Lums', eldest daughter. I still remember walking by their house while on my way to the Main Hall. The only thing I saw was the windows boarded and the door sealed shut. I knew what they were doing. Because it happens every year. The families, whose child is chosen at the reaping, board up their homes and wait for what is yet to come.

Anger stirs up inside me as I picture the boy from 2 thrusting a sword through Lydia's chest. I start to feel warm tears trickle down my cheeks, which a quickly wipe away. As my eyes water, more rage surges in my chest. I hate the Capitol!

The thing with me, is I only cry when I get mad. It seems that after watching the games for five years my emotions are dried up, especially when it comes to grief.

I look up to see Mrs. Willow's glossy eyes staring at me. Did she see me cry? Will she think I'm weak? Great, just great. I bet she thinks that I'm just like the many others in our district who ball their eyes out on reaping day.

"Son are you alright?"

"Yes ma'am, I'm fine." I'm not fine, but I don't feel like explaining my hatred of the Capitol, because after all it is illegal. It's illegal here in Panem to talk slander about the merciful and all-powerful Capitol. The Capitol takes rebelling of any form so serious that you can be killed on the spot for it.

I watch as a smile spreads across her pale lips. Why is she smiling? What could possibly make her happy on a day such as this one?

"You know what my husband would say when he could see I was angry?"

How is one of her husband's sayings going to help me? Trust me; my hatred for the Capitol is beyond kindling.

"He would say, "Hate may win some battles, but love will always win the war.""

Love? How does love make anything better? How does loving the Capitol make my life any better? The only thing the Capitol does is destroy and corrupt the things I love the most.

"I see you need time to think, but before I leave, let me give you some advice of my own."

I nod, letting her know I'm ready to hear her advice.

"Hatred will only cause more destruction."

There's a long eerie pause before Mrs. Willows speaks again.

"Oakley, I'll see you tomorrow," she turns to walk away but stops, "O' and Good luck today, and may the odds be so ever in your favor," says Mrs. Willows in a mocking Capitol voice.

I snicker at her awful impression, which turns my souring frown into a crooked smile. Mrs. Willows has a habit of making me laugh. She rather took on that job when I started helping her. Besides, I cannot help but laugh at that awful impression. Speaking of impressions, there's a girl in my grade of school, Amber, who does an amazing impression of our escort, Aster Adams. In fact, it's so good that some people call her Aster instead of Amber, which makes it even more hilarious.

I'm only a few feet away when the shrieking sound howls through the humid air. It's the train. The sound of an engine roaring and the polished wheels squealing. The screaming of the brakes sends a shiver down my spine, O' how I hate that sound. The high-pitched squeal of the whistle reminding us that today is the day where two lives change forever. The day we know as the reaping.

The Reaping is the day that the all-powerful Capitol selects two tributes, a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen from each District, to participate in a _pageant _known as the glorious Hunger Games. But this in no ordinary _pageant. _In this pageant the Capitol sends the unlucky twenty four tributes into an arena where they will fight to the death until only one remains. The person who remains will be known as the Victor. Each Victor is crowned by President Snow, and with their victory comes a bountiful of gifts for their district. It makes me sick at how the Capitol treats the Games like a festivity. All of this just to remind us of the Dark Days.

The Dark Days was the time in which the thirteen districts rebelled against the Capitol. Many died in the fight for freedom but in the end the fight was not strong enough because the Capitol was victorious. The Capitol defeated every district one by one, until it reached District 13. District 13 declined the offer to surrender so the Capitol destroyed them. My grandfather told me, before he died, that he remembered feeling the earth shake as the bombs went off. Since that day, the Capitol holds a video at the reaping, which reminds us of District 13 or in other words, what happens if we defy the Capitol.

What time is it? I look up frantically at the sun using it as my own personal watch. I'm going to be late! And my mother is going to kill me! She specifically told me not to be late, and that we would be gathering in the Main Hall at two o' clock.

I take off in full sprint making a left, then a right, then another left, thrashing my way through the thick brush, along with the occasional weaving through skinny pines. I slow down as I pass by the wood yard. The mountains of neatly stacked wood soaring into the blue August sky. The smell of lumber wafting through the air. I love that smell. The sweet smell of hickory. It is one of my favorite things about District 7. I make another sharp left making sure to avoid Mrs. Maple's yard. You always and I do mean always avoid Mrs. Maple's yard! Why? Because that woman is crazier than a loose bundled of twigs.

One time my friend Axel got a lash in the gallows because Mrs. Maple screamed bloody murder after a pine-cone "fell" into her yard. You see, Axel was her neighbor at the time and it all started when Axel and his younger brother were outside cleaning the yard of pine straw and pine-cones The gesture is something we do for our parents here in District 7 because it shows we love and respect them. Anyways, Mrs. Maple accused Axel of trashing her yard. She also claimed that when she confronted him, he tried to hit her. Instantly I knew this was a lie, because if you knew Axel then you would know that he would never hit a woman, not only because he fears his father would kill him, but because he is too kind of a person. The kid wouldn't even harm a fly much less a pruned up old woman.

My eyes follow the old rooted trail until I see it, a wooden cabin. It is quite small but still it is roomy enough for my parents and me. Our cabin is identical to every other in District 7. It has the same wooden frame, old rotting porch, a wooden door, along with six raggedy windows.

As I jog down the pathway, carefully avoiding stubs, I see my mother standing outside on the porch, her eyes staring blankly into the sunset. Her ashy brown hair pinned in a small tight bun. The sight of my mother numbs my nerves.

I never knew why my mother, after that day, had to be so emotionless. It was as if her heart was now full of rugged stone and her eyes drained from tears. The loving mother that once wrapped me into her arms was now as affectionate as the Peacekeepers that stood watch in the Main Hall. I remember pleading and screaming at her to say something, anything. Well not anything, I only yearned for her say the words I love you. Those three words are what I miss hearing the most. Instead of saying anything, she just sat there with a cold look upon her face. She looked so dead inside, and I knew from that day on that my mother would never be the same. It was after that day that I learned how fast death changes someone. Death, now there's a word I'm all too familiar with. I remember when I met _Death _for the first time.

I walk in from school and hear my mom screaming, "My Baby!", "My Baby!" Wondering what she's talking about, I ease over to the bassinet and glance in it. What I saw puzzled me. It was my little brother Barkley lying there perfectly still, his face as pale as powder. He wasn't breathing, moving, anything. Confused, because I was young, I looked at my mom, tears rolling down her cheeks. Barkley was sick often because he was born early, but he always pulled through. Well, he didn't pull through that day, and because he didn't, it left me in utter shock. As disturbing as his lifeless body was, the only thing that still haunts me is my mother's face, the tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes. The look of pain in those eyes.

I hated watching her cry, mainly because it made me feel so helpless. I wanted everything to be back to normal, but something told me, my life would never be normal again. I tried to forget, but I wasn't like my dad; I couldn't just push it off and act as if it was all some nightmare that would soon fade away. The day that burns the brightest in my memory, is the day when I came home and my mom wasn't crying anymore. I was speechless because the house had never been this quiet. It was from that day on that she didn't weep one tear nor crack one smile. She was numb and I hated what death had done to her. I hated that when I lost Barkley, I lost my mother too. I cried myself to sleep countless times after thinking about my mother and the memories we once had. How she would sing while she washed the dishes. Her voice was full of such joy that it never failed to bring a smile upon my face. I'm not naïve; I know what death does to people. I saw what happened to the families that lost a child to the Games. How they crumbled after the death of a child. I know the pain of searing lost. But what I didn't know, was that pain, could conquer love. My mother being a prime example of that theory.

I rush up the steps, each one moaning with a creek. I ignore the annoying noise because I cannot wait to see my mother's face once I show her the ax. Mrs. Willow's act of kindness will force a smile on her face, I just know it. I strut over to my mother, giving her a slight peck on the cheek. After the kiss, my voice bursts of excitement, "Mother, look what Mrs. Willows gave me!" I show her the shiny steel axe, waving it repeatedly, like a child, in front of her grey eyes. She glances up at me, her nose crinkling before she speaks. "Son! I told you not to be late!" She motions me to give her the ax, and I do, which causes me to groan. Why must she act this way? Will she ever be happy?

"Oakley! Where were you? You're ten minutes late! And why do you smell so wretched!"

"Well mother, I was helping Mrs. Willows and I guess I just lost track of time."

"Why do you do this to me?" Says my mother as she lets out a sigh of disappointment before continuing her lecture, "Why must you make this day harder for me? All I ask is that you're on time, but no you can't even do that!" she glares at me, and I quickly look down, starring at the gaps in between the wooden floor. After an elongated pause, I finally muster up the courage to walk around my disappointed mother. The door creeks just like the steps, but I ignore it, and rush inside. I make my way to the back of the house. I walk into the bathroom, a small room with wooden floors along with a small rusted sink, dusty mirror, and an old metal bin, which sits in the middle in of the room. Stripping off my sweaty clothes, I run and pounce into the icy bath water. As my body immerses into the water, the hair on the back of my neck stands in full salute. Before my skin goes numb from the coldness, I grab an old pink brush with stained yellow bristles' and begin scrubbing.

I get out the metal bin and grab an old ragged cloth. Once I am dry, I walk down the hallway and into my room. The first thing I see is that my mother has already laid out on my bed, some of my father's old clothes, a solid white button up, dark dress pants, and a pair of holey white socks that look like they've had better days. I look down to see a pair of black dress shoes.

I slide on the enormous shirt, and colossal pants. I also grab a belt from the closet and strap it around my waist. I slip on the raggedy socks and slide into my scuffed shoes. As I stand, I stop, because the door squeaks. I wonder if my father is home early. No, my father never gets home early. Must just be my mother coming inside.

I walk out of my room and back into the bathroom. I stand in front of the dusty mirror and dig out a clump of grease that sits inside an old glass jar. I rub the grease through my unruly russet hair, slicking it back. I'm startled when I see my reflection in the mirror. Now seventeen, it seems I have lost all my boyish features. Looking down at my body, I realize this shirt makes me look larger than I actually am. I glance down at my arm and see my roughly defined bicep. Looks like that blunt ax did build me some muscle. I cannot help but laugh as I remember my dad calling me scrawny Tim. For a long time I was small and frail. Therefore, I was given the nickname scrawny Tim, which I hated. It was only until last year that I lost the flattering nickname. I can thank Mrs. Willows fattening gifts for that, along with all the hacking I did with that lovely blunt ax.

Studying my face, I see the dark circles hovering under my hazel eyes. Those circles are a reminder that I've wasted too many sleepless night worrying about things that I know could never be changed. So from this year on, I have vowed to be worry free. My new found proclamation causes a smile to spread across my lips. My teeth. Well they could look worse. At least they aren't as yellow as my friend Levon's, because his teeth could make a stick of butter look pale.

After walking out of the bathroom, I walk across the hall, and into the living room. As I enter the room the smell of pine straw and roasting deer hit me. My mother must have bought another pinst. Pinst is a small ball on tightly woven pin straw that our district uses as an air freshener. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother sitting in an old wooden chair, her eyes watching me. She still looks fearless. Why must she always look so strong? Emotion is not a bad thing, is it? As I walk to where she is sitting, I soon feel her arms wrapped tightly around me. The warmth of her body, trying to trick me into thinking I'm safe, and that not even the Capitol can pry me from her grip, but I know that these feelings are amiss, because neither her or my father can save me from the Reaping. Every child must go, unless you're bed bound or under the age of twelve, and if you don't show, you won't live to see your next Reaping.

When I hear the screeching horn it makes my heart sink into my belly. It's the sound that lets us know it is time to gather in the Main Hall. As I pull away from my mother grasp, I let out a smile and with the smile the words, "Don't worry, the odds are in my favor today." What an awful attempt for me to drown out the tide of anxiety that is building up in my chest. Why am I so scared? This isn't my first reaping. I need to man up. As we walk to the door, I slip her another peck on the cheek then I step outside to begin my journey. A journey that I make every year, and if the odds are in my favor, a journey that I will make next year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. However, Oakley is my original creation. :) **

**Chapter 2**

A wall of Peacekeepers surround the entrance to the Main Hall. Peacekeepers are the law enforcers here. They make sure we follow the Capitol laws without hesitation. The laws in Panem are simple, "Obey the Capitol, or die."

As I walk to the check-in line, I gaze up at the colossal building: the ancient columns wrapped with vines, and the white crystal walls dazzling in the sunlight. Why must this beautiful building represent the cruelty of the Capitol? As I watch the green banners blow in the wind, my feelings of dread only deepen.

As the stone stage comes into view, I see it's covered by a rainbow of Capitol people. A rainbow is the only word that truly describes these people's wigs and clothing choices. Honestly, I never understood their sense of fashion, because it seems quite frivolous to me. I chuckle as I watch them run around like scattered ants, each one doing whatever they can to make the stage look perfect. Only the best for our dear Capitol. I watch as a Peacekeeper sprays down the concrete stage with water. I don't see why he's scrubbing the stage now, because it isn't like those stains are going to magically disappear by two o' clock. I watch as others do paint touch-ups, and hang baskets of roses, which really smell awful.

As the wind blows, the retched perfume fills the air. Why the Capital citizens love this grotesque smell so much, I'll never know, because to me, it smells worse than a dead deer on a sunny day. As the cool wind brushes up against my skin, the revolting stench punches me in the face. My gag reflex reacts so quickly that I nearly lose my breakfast. I groan as I swallow down the acidic bile. Of all the days for a nice breeze, why today?

District 7's climate is always scorching hot and humid. On some days the roasting heat can make you miserable. But then, there's days like this when the breeze is blowing that remind you of why District 7 isn't so such a terrible place to live. I've noticed that days like this usually occur when it's the reaping or victor's tour, which makes me wonder: does the Capital control the weather too?

I turn my attention from the stage, and realize I'm now surrounded by a swarm of children. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel claustrophobic. This is the one of the best parts about the Reaping: the unintentional shoving and pushing along with the revolting stench of body odor.

When I arrive at the check in line, a Capitol woman asks for my name. I tell her. She then types my name into the system, and says the number of entries I have this year. "21," hisses the Capitol woman in her proper accent.

When you become the age of twelve, your name is entered into the reaping one time. After that, with every year of age your entry increases by one until you're eighteen. When you turn eighteen, your name is entered into the reaping the maximum number of times, and if you survive that reaping, then you're home free.

Twenty-one. I guess it could be worse. I could be like the poorer part of the district, the ones who have to take out tesserae for every member of their family. If you're starving in Panem, you're given the option to take out Tesserae, which is a year's supply of oil and grain. Seems like a generous favor from the Capitol right? Well it's not so generous, because there's a catch. With each tesserae comes a submission, and by submission-your name is entered into the reaping one more time.

After the check in line, I tunnel through the wall of children, and make my way to my age division, the seventeen-year-olds. Weaving through my age group, I hope to spot Axel or Levin, but I never do, so I stop and wait for the Capitol Seal to play.

At two o' cock the show begins, and the first thing I see is a vile creature with a huge grin on its face. The sight of the strange woman startles me. Where is our previous escort, Aster Adams? Did he retire? Or get replaced? If I was betting, I would go with the latter, simply because not many escorts retire.

As the woman prances across the stage, the first thing I notice is the green spikes lining her tattooed scalp. Her face is shining from white, clumpy powder, which only draws more attention to her emerald-colored lips, and she's wearing a frilly, tan suit. Who is this woman, and why have I never seen her before? I watch as our mayor and victors follow her onto the stage. The stage arrangement is rather simple this year: two glass bowls filled with slips of paper, a microphone and podium, and two wooden benches. Our escort and mayor have a seat on the first wooden bench, while the victors sit on the second.

Mayor Vine, who's a robust woman with tight blond curls and freckles, marches up to the microphone. Mayor Vine always starts the show with our history then she moves to the Treaty of Treason, which is the reason we have the Games.

Our mayor starts off her boring speech with the history of Panem. She begins by telling us about the earthly disasters, such as tornadoes, blizzards, earthquakes, and hurricanes that destroyed the continent once known as North America. After all the destruction only a small part of the continent was livable, and that part became known as Panem. She then talks about the Dark Days, and how thankful she is that the Capitol ended the wars and regained peace. That _peace _being the Hunger Games.

"During those days we were so savage," says the mayor, "brother turning on brother, I imagine it was a horrendous sight."

Next she reads the Treaty of Treason, which consists of all the rules and regulations. So instead of giving you another history lesson like I did before, I'll just keep it short. The Treaty of Treason allows the Capitol to select a boy and girl, which after being reaped, are called tributes. After they're reaped, the Capitol sends the twenty-four tributes into an outdoor arena, which can consist of about any terrain, where all but one will die. Simple enough.

Once the dreary monologue is over, our mayor reads the list of past District 7 victors. We have a total of six. The most recent was a girl named, Johanna Mason. She won the 71st Annual Hunger Games. It was a shocking victory, mainly because at first she seemed like a frail, blubbering coward. The girl couldn't stop crying when her name was called at the reaping. Her odds got even more pathetic, when her training score was revealed. We all expected her to die in the bloodbath, but she didn't. The real shock came when we found out that this was all merely an act, and that she wasn't a weakling, but a brutal murderer.

When our mayor finishes, she motions for the woman to come. Our surefooted escort then gets up and trots towards the gleaming silver microphone. Before speaking she stops and gives an inanely grin. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be so ever in your favor! As you all are wondering, I am not Aster Adams. To our surprise, Aster announced his retirement early. So on that note, I, Gabby Goldberg stepped up to the plate as District 7's new escort. I imagine you are all grateful by my kind gesture, but please hold the applause."

As she finishes her sentence, I can't help but think,_ is this woman serious right now? Does she really expect us to applaud? Gabby's naivety nearly causes me to burst into laughter. Applaud. That has to be the funniest thing I've heard all year. _.

"Well, I assume its ladies first," says Gabby, her voice pitchy. Looks like our escort is nervous. She then walks over, and reaches her hand, her pointed fingers decorated with vines, into the glass bowl with the girls' name. She fiddles with several sheets of paper, until finally, she plucks one from the bowl. With the piece of paper in hand, she skips back to the microphone and reads, "Riley Piners!"

_Riley Piners?_ I think. _That name doesn't sound familiar._ She must either be in the grade lower than me or from the poorer part of the district.

I watch as a frail-framed girl with brunette hair and pale skin walks up to the stage. Her hollow gray eyes showing anything but emotion. When she arrives on stage, our flamboyant escort gives her a sympathetic pat on the back. I guess she feels sorry for her, which would be a first in our district, because Aster didn't have a reputation for being sympathetic. Standing on the stage the girl looks even more frail and puny then before. As the girl slouches on stage, I think, l_ooks like we won't have a female victor from District 7 this year._

I can't help but stare as I watch the girl stand on stage. I know I've already marked her off as dead, but I've never been so intrigued yet disturbed by someone. What I find disturbing isn't her emancipated body, but the lifeless glaze in her eye. It's like she's already dead. Wait. Why am I so intrigued by this? I brush off that thought, and stare harder, trying to focus in on her face, which remains hidden behind a tangled mane. I watch as the wind carries pieces of her dry hair away. I nearly fall forward trying to get a better view, but when I finally see her face, I wish I hadn't.

As soon as my eyes meet the two haunting, grey eyes on stage, I quickly look down. My fear is more than obvious and it doesn't take long for the paranoia to set in. Why was she staring at me? And why are her pupils so hoary? Is she ill? Demented?

I continue to hold my head down in fear of another eye contact with the pale figure on stage. I only look up when I hear the words, "Now for the boys!" Our escort walks over to the glass bowl with the boys' name and reaches her hand in. I watch in anticipation, as she digs all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. Why is she putting so much effort into picking a tribute? Usually they pluck one of the top names. After a few excruciating seconds, the woman scrapes up a single sheet of paper, and dashes back over to the microphone.

I can't help but feel sorry for this boy. I mean no other escort would work this hard in choosing a tribute for the Hunger Games. This woman is taking her new job way too serious.

"Psshhzzz!"

The small crack in the microphone causes me to jump. Why am I so jittery? I shouldn't be nervous. We do this every year. Besides, I'm feeling pretty confident about my odd-

"Oakley Timmons!"

My heart sinks into my stomach. What did she just say? Did she just call out my name? I watch as all eyes turn and stare at me. I feel beads of sweat clustering on my forehead. This can't be happening. As my thoughts scatter, I begin to feel dizzy.

One time I was working for Mrs. Willows, on a hot summer day in the month of July. July is one of those months in which we are all miserable, mainly because of the roasting heat. Anyways, I was hacking away at some old tree trunk that had fallen in her yard. As I hacked away, I notice that I wasn't sweating anymore. At first, I was a little worried, but after a few minutes I went back to chopping the piece of decaying wood. That was my first mistake, because little did I know, I was suffering from dehydration. After a few more swings, I started to feel dizzy. This is when I knew something was wrong, so I frantically reached out for my water canteen. But before I could grab it, I blacked out and smashed my head up against the old tree. Mrs. Willows came outside and found me in a puddle of blood. All I remember is waking up in my bed with my head wrapped in some white cloth, and my mom forcing clear liquid in my mouth every time my eyes opened.

I wait for the darkness to overtake me, like it did before, but it never happens. The only thing that happens is more faces turn and stare, wondering as to why I haven't moved yet.

While stepping out of the aisle, I attempt to boast out my chest. I have to appear confident, even if my insides are screaming with fear. I have to look strong if I want to win this. As I walk, I pass by familiar faces. Some with tears in their eyes, others try to avoid my gaze, which makes me feel like a cow being led to the slaughter.

As I stand on the stage, I glance over at my district partner, who is blankly staring off into the crowd. Watching Riley's distorted figure, I think, _are the odds even in my favor? Or are we both doomed? _

"Come on you two, shake hands," whispers Gabby. Riley's hand is cold, and the glare with it even colder. I'm guessing she's trying to intimidate me.

As Gabby ends the show with the Capitol's favorite catch phrase, I do my best to squeeze out a smile for the cameras. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be so ever in your favor!"

Peacekeepers take us into custody and lead us into the Justice Building. They don't actually cuff you, instead a hoard of Peacekeepers barricade around you. The Peacekeepers act as if you might try to escape. Do they think we're fools? No one escapes from the Capitol, we all know that.

Once inside, I'm taken down one hallway and Riley another. As I tread down the long hallway, I pass by white marble walls and portraits of past mayors.

The group of Peacekeepers leading me comes to a halt when we reach our destination. "Go in," commands one in a boisterous voice. I do as commanded and enter the room. As soon as the door opens, my breath is blown away by the room's beauty. I've never seen anything so marvelous and eloquent. The sight of this room puts our cabins to shame. The leather couches, sparkling from the sunlight, the wooden tables carved so smooth and delicate. The chilling breeze from the window rustles through my gelled hair, and cools my sweaty face.

"You have three minutes!" commands a Peacekeeper.

Sprinting in comes my mother and father. My mother's eyes are filling with tears as she rushes towards me. Is she crying? That's strange. My mother doesn't cry. Well, she hasn't since Barkley died. As my mother approaches me, I soon feel her arms binding tightly around me. After a few seconds of hugging, I pull my mother's head out of my chest. I watch as a stream of tears run down her face.

"Mother, I'm going to win. I'll be back before you know it." Here I am again, making another awful attempt to reassure my confidence. My mother doesn't give me any advice or a lecture. Instead, only three words leave her mouth, as a smile spreads across her tear stained cheeks. "I love you."

With those words, I think. _If my mother can say I love you again, then maybe I can win these Games. Maybe winning isn't so impossible after all. _

"I love you too," I say. My voice sounds strained, and I think it's because I'm battling to hold back the tears. I won't let myself cry. I can't. The cameras will be rolling as soon as I walk out this door, and I won't be seen with bloodshot eyes.

I look over to my father, a man towering over my mother, his muscles bulging through his shirt. His expression is stern, and his grey hair is dripping with sweat. As I stare into my father's hazel eyes, he says to me, "Oakley, I taught you how to use an ax. Get to an ax son, and defend yourself. It's the same as cutting down trees. The harder you swing the harder they fall."

"Times up," shouts the Peacekeeper as he barges through the doorway.

I don't even have time to reply to my father, because before I can blink my parents vanish from my sight. The door slams, and I'm left here alone in this room, with only my thoughts.

_It's the same as cutting down trees. The harder you swing the harder they fall._

Killing isn't the same as cutting down trees. Trees aren't humans, and trees don't try to kill you. The only part that is true of his advice is that I am quite handy with an ax. I've been using one ever since I was young. I remember when my father would take me out and let me chop wood for the fireplace. Sometimes we would turn stacking the logs into a game. My father would always accidentally knock over his pile so that his little boy would win.

_Get to an ax son, and defend yourself. _

What if there is no ax? What if I have nothing to defend myself with? I can't die in the arena! I just can't! I have to come back to District 7 to see my mother and father again. Not have to, but will. I will come back to see my father and mother again, there is no other choice in the matter. As the door swings open, I think: _I, Oakley Timmons, will be the Victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games._

The ride to the train station seems like an eternity. Gabby blabbers the whole ride about all the luxuries the Capitol will soon spoil us with. She continues to yap about other pleasures we will be indulged in. The rest of her words fade as my mind starts to replay old memories-the ones I cherish from my childhood.

I remember my mom rocking me on the front porch in that old ragged rocking chair. The wind blowing on a cool afternoon. We would sit outside and wait for father to come home. During the rocking, we would sing songs like, Bury the Hatchet. As soon as I think of the name, the lyrics come flooding back in.

_If I bury the hatchet today, oh what then will they say?_

_Will they say I was noble, or will they say I was vain? _

_Should I bury the hatchet today?_

_If I bury the hatchet today, oh what then will I say? _

_Will I say I was noble, or will I say I was vain? _

_Should I bury the hatchet today? _

My mother's voice was always so beautiful. Mine on the other hand sounded like a dying cat. I remember squealing out the chorus while my mother sang it softly. She would always giggle when I squeaked at the end. When we finished, she would say, "Oakley, softer," and then we would start the song over.

Tears finally run down my face as I watch the last pine fades into the distance. My home continues to fade as the view of the train gets closer. I know I said I wouldn't cry before ,but it's not until now that I realize I'm leaving everything I know and love; my mother, father, Mrs. Willows, my friends, Axel and Levin.

Who will help Mrs. Willows now? What is my family going to do? Will my mother have another break down like she did before? I wipe away the tears and as I do, I think. _Oakley, you have to be tough. Remember, what you said earlier, about not worrying about things you couldn't change, well you can't change this, so stop worrying about it. _

The car eases to a stop, or should I say jerks to stop. I wait for a Peacekeeper to open the door. When the car door opens, the Peacekeepers waste no time escorting us onto the sidewalk and up the steps. Walking up the stairs, I smile as the camera's flash. With each burst of light I'm blinded, but still I make it my priority to smile. I have to be likeable by the Capitol, after all they treat this like a celebration. It's sick I know to play along with this charade, but if I want to survive, I'll have to make sacrifices.

When we arrive at the train, a man most likely an avox, slides the huge metal door open. An avox is someone who has committed a crime against the Capitol, and by crime I mean either stood up against this cruelty or tried to escape.

We enter in the train, and follow a hallway until we reach another door. The woman then pushes open the steel door, and what I see is unbelievable. Now, I know I must be dreaming, because this room puts the one back in the Justice Building to shame, which I thought was impossible.

The walls, tables, and furniture are all in lavish blues and reds with golden trims. The tables are filled with soups, breads, fruits, cakes, cookies, and small candies, all of which are on their own silver platter. This feast is unreal! I've never seen so much food. The word food doesn't even describe the things in front of my eyes, more like delicacies. Well, Gabby did say the Capitol was going to spoil us. I look to my left to see colored liquids in different size bottles and flasks, all of which are organized on a small cart. Scanning the cart I think,_ looks like we have ourselves a mini bar_.

I watch as avoxes flood into the room, each one holding a silver tray. My stomach starts grumbling and complaining, and my mouth drooling at the thought of an upcoming feast. I walk over to the table and have a seat. As soon as I do, sweet aromas fill my nose.

Once the table is all set, I wait for an avox with a dinner bell to appear, but when the door opens, it's not an avox who walks in. Instead, a man and woman enter the room, and I know exactly who they are.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing the last chapter! I enjoyed reading each one! :) Also, a thanks is due to my Beta Readers, because without them this story would be filled with errors. (I really appreciate you guys!)**

**Read, review, but most importantly enjoy :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

**Read, review, but most importantly enjoy. :) **

**Chapter 3**

In walks first, the young and beautiful Johanna Mason. She's a small figured woman with brown hair that drapes across her shoulders. Her bright ivory colored eyes stare into mine. It appears she's already judging me. I can't complain, because I've judged her too, who hasn't? Everyone in our district knows of her reputation and the charade she pulled to become the victor of the Seventy-First Annual Hunger Games.

A man steps from behind her. It's Blight, the latest male victor. He's a tall and robust man that looks to be in his late thirties. In a sense, he reminds me of my father except for the brown hair. His dark hazel eyes scan us up and down as he enters the room. Looks like Johanna isn't the only one judging off of first impressions. I wonder which one will be my mentor.

How does the mentoring process even work? Is there a routine we have to follow or is it up to the district? Like, does the mentor just pick a tribute? Or does the tribute pick a mentor? As the two mentors get closer, I have a feeling my question is about to be answered.

"Well these two look a lot better than the ones who were reaped last year," snips Johanna, her eyes glancing us up and down once more. "But once again we have such a puny girl."

"Now Johanna, these two appear to have some potential in them," reassures Blight.

"If you say so," sneers Johanna.

"Just wait, you'll see," states Blight boldly.

"I hope you're right," says Johanna.

"I hope so too," mutters Blight.

_I hope so too_. I think, Blight's words rumbling through my mind. He doesn't sound too confident if you ask me. What happened to the confidence he had earlier? Did he not just say we had potential? Thoughts of doubt start to stir in my mind. No, I don't need to doubt myself. In order to win, I have to be confident in my abilities. But what if that's not enough?

_Am I really that helpless?_ I think, letting the doubt set in. I know I'm not some muscular boy from district 2 who can slash a dummy in half with one swing, but I'm not some whimpering coward who's going to accept his death either. I made myself a promise to return home, and I plan on sticking to that promise. So I need to stop worrying with these foolish thoughts, and start thinking of a strategy to win this.

"You mentoring the b-", asks Johanna.

"Yes," breaks Blight. "I'll be mentoring Oakley, and you'll have the pleasure of working with Riley."

I sigh with relief when I hear Blight say that he'll be mentoring me. Deep down I was hoping I would get him. Out of the two, he seems to be more…level-headed. Besides, Johanna doesn't seem too thrilled to be a mentor.

I hope Blight proves to be one of those mentors who do everything in their power to ensure their tribute makes it back home. There aren't many mentors who are like that, so I guess that's a shot in the dark. I wonder how Riley feels about her mentor. I glance over at her, but her face says nothing, she's just as emotionless as before. Is this girl even breathing?

"It's so nice to see you again!" exclaims Gabby, her voicing squealing with excitement.

"It's nice to see you too, Aster," snickers Johanna. "There's something different about you, but I can't put my finger on it. Did you change your hairstyle, gain weight? I know! You got more plastic surgery done, didn't you?"

"I'm not Aster silly!" corrects Gabby. "I'm the new District 7 escort, Gabby Goldnog."

Is she that stupid? Johanna knows who she is, everyone does, thanks to that detailed introduction she gave at the reaping. Johanna's just being spiteful.

"Well it's nice to see you again Gabby Goldnog," blabbers Blight.

If I didn't know any better, I would say that he too is mocking Gabby. I know this is her first year, so I imagine she's new to the whole escort Sauvé, and she definitely hasn't gained any respect yet. But still, I wonder how she got this job to begin with. I know she said she volunteered, but why? Was she forced into volunteering or was it her choice? And did Aster really retire?

"O' Blight, the pleasure is all mine," yaps Gabby. "O' and Blight, did you know that this train travels up to 250 miles per hour."

"Yes I did Gabby," answers Blight, frankly.

"I just find it so fascinating!" squeals Gabby. "That we're traveling at such a remarkable speed, yet we can't feel a thing."

"Yes that's rather interesting," mutters Blight. "But I was wondering if you happened to know the schedule for tomorrow? Like what time we'll arrive at the Capitol and when Oakley will meet his stylist. You know, the tedious details."

Gabby stares at Blight in horror. Her lips forming into a shaky smile. Her peppy mood instantly fading. What did he say? Then, out of nowhere, she starts pacing back and forth across the room. "Well..." she stutters, "Umm… the schedule said… it said..." We all stand there flabbergasted as Gabby sprints back and forth across the cart. Looks like something's been running through her mind all day. I chuckle at my lame pun, which makes me think of Axel. He always found my cheesy puns funny, even when no one else did. As she continues to act like a flustered hen, I think. _She's the only one who asked to be here, so why is she so nervous?_

"Should we get someone?" whispers Johanna to Blight.

Gabby skids to a stop, nearly losing her balance in her six-inch heels. "Who would you get my dear," she asks, raising both eyebrows. "Very well! Now that I've done my exercise for the day," she giggles, "And you've all met properly, shall we carry on with dinner?"

Dinner comes in courses. A slimy spinach soup, which was really salty. Golden bread smothered in herbs. A bowl of cream colored noodles and chicken. Strawberry cake, topped with white fluffy cream that dissolves in your mouth. During the meal, Gabby talks about her first reaping experience and how she's honored that Riley and I were her first two tributes. I'm glad someone feels honored, because I surely don't.

With each spoonful, I feel my stomach stretching. I've never eaten this much before, except for that one time when I gorged myself at Johanna's victor's tour. I remember the feast like it was just yesterday: roasted duck, red potatoes, juicy, green vegetables, colorful fruits, and chocolate covered sweets.

"Are you enjoying the meal?" asks Gabby. I'm guessing she's tired of the awkward silence in the room.

"It was delicious," answers Blight as he dabs his mouth with a white cloth.

"That question was meant for Oakley," chuckles Gabby as her eyes find mine.

"It was delicious," I say, mimicking my mentor.

Well that was smooth Oakley, just copy your mentor because that's not weird at all. These people don't know you, so way to make a memorable first impression. Things just keep getting better and better, don't they?

"And you dear," adds Gabby as she stares at Riley.

"Dinner was dinner," mutters Riley plainly.

What dinner has this girl had back in District 7 that tastes this good? Because the dinner I just ate was way better than the usual sausage and rice.

My mother's specialty back home consists of sausage and rice. Both ingredients are cheap so we eat her specialty a lot. When I was young, we ate it so much that I thought my mom didn't know how to cook anything else. My father found my assumption funny, but my mother didn't. I remember my father saying, "Eating sausage and rice every night keeps a few extra coins in my pocket." My father likes to set extra coins aside for emergencies, such as medicine and house repairs.

I look at Gabby, who seems to be appalled by Riley's remark. Looks like she wasn't expecting such a mundane statement. Speaking of Riley, I've noticed that she's hardly spoken. I've also noticed that we haven't made eye contact since the reaping, which is fine by me, because I'm still spooked from the last encounter we had.

Now that the meal is over, the avox are swooping around the table like vultures. Within a few mere seconds, the table is spotless. Astounded, I think, _wow,_ _that was fast_. But then again, when you have a dozen people working on one task, it shouldn't take long to complete.

It would be nice to have a dozen people helping me back home. Especially when it comes time to repair the roof in the summer.

The Cabins in district 7 are notorious for becoming infested with termites or rotting apart due to weathering. We prevent these future disasters by changing out the old logs during the summer months. The process is a pain, but it needs to be done.

I remember one time, I was working on our roof with my two buddies, Axel and Levon. I was attempting to loosen one of the logs on the roof since it was weathered and was causing the ceiling to leak. Well, as I was pulling I slipped, and before I knew it, I was flat on my back. The fall knocked the breath out of me along with one or two bruised ribs. Those extra coins my father had saved paid for my painkillers

We leave the table and enter into another compartment, inside is a plush couch and a giant TV. This is the room where we'll watch all the reapings. The Capitol airs them live. They're even kind enough to space out all the viewing times so someone could watch all the reapings in one sitting. For the Capitol people this is perfect, but for the districts this is nearly impossible, considering we have other tasks at hand.

The TV flicks on, and one by one the faces appear. Each name mentioned but soon forgotten. Some tributes step forward, but most don't. Most are like me and are forced to participate in the games rather than by choice. As the faces appear, I only remember the tributes that I see as competition or in other words future threats. The arrogant boy from District 1, which by Gabby's outburst I know is the son of a previous victor. The sinister looking girl from District 2. A crafty girl from District 3, who dissects the camera with her analytical green eyes. A muscular boy from District 5.

When they show District 7, a rush of anxiety comes over me. I watch as Riley's name is called and she treads up to the stage. Then my name is called and I just stand there. I see now that more people than I thought were staring at me wondering as to why I hadn't moved yet. The best part is when I squeezed out that smile right before Gabby closed.

"Why did I sound so nervous?" whines Gabby. "How embarrassing!"

The reapings continue, and I don't see anyone else as a mutual threat except the boy or should I say beast from District 10. The boy easily stands over six feet tall - his matted red hair adding a few extra inches. Being from District 10, which is livestock, I would say it's safe to assume that they'd get a beefy tribute every now and then.

"Well Glitz is obviously the one to beat this year," snips Johanna.

"Glitz?" I ask.

"The boy from District 1," answers Blight. "He's the son of a past victor."

I should've known that just from hearing his name. District 1 tributes always have odd, ridiculous names. It seems that their parents name them after giddy objects that serve for luxury uses. I find it ironic actually, because they want their child to seem ruthless and fearful in the arena, but they give them names like: Glitter or Bronze. Their reasoning behind the names just doesn't make sense.

"The boy from District 10 will surely have high odds too," states Johanna, her eyes quickly studying Riley and me. Her sudden glance makes it obvious that she's comparing us to the hefty boy.

"You mean Boarus!" squeaks Gabby. "He's one of my favorites this year!"

Boarus. Even his name sounds intimidating. As of right now, I hope Glitz or Boarus get taken out by one of the other tributes. Running into one of them in the arena wouldn't work out in my best interest.

"Not that you two aren't in my favorites too," adds Gabby quickly.

Johanna chuckles, "Looks like even Gabby doesn't see you two returning."

"I never said that!" screams Gabby. "The odds are in anyone's favor."

I chuckle as Gabby's frustration rises when Johanna laughs again. She's holding her own at the moment but by the end of this, I see District 7 getting a new escort. Gabby doesn't seem like the type who can handle the pressure if you ask me. She wouldn't be the first to crack under the pressure.

I remember when Levon's father couldn't handle the pressure of having another baby, considering he had three already so instead of dealing with the problem, he cracked under the responsibility, and ran into the woods like a wild man. The Peacekeepers found him a few days later, but instead of escorting him out, they carried him in a wooden coffin. Levon said he doesn't blame his dad for becoming unstable. Now Levon takes out tesserae for all his family, which totals to five. After that, Levon never told me how many times his name was in, but I know it has to be over forty.

"Oakley?" asks Blight. "Did you see anyone that you might want to avoid in the arena?"

"Glitz and Boarus for sure," I answer. "O' and the girl from District 2."

"What about you Riley," teases Johanna. "You spot your killer yet?"

"My killer doesn't have a reaping," says Riley.

What does she mean by that? Of course her killer has a reaping, because every tribute has a reaping. Is she delusional or does she mean something by that statement? Either way, I'm beginning to think that something is seriously wrong with this girl.

I turn my gaze from a confused Johanna to see Blight scribbling down something on a sheet of paper. What is he writing? Is he recording my answers? Is he trying to help me or plot against me? I just met this man today, and for all I know, he could be doing anything. The thought pops in that it would be rude to ask, but then again who cares about the pleasantries. This is my life on the line.

"What are you writing?" I ask, my voice filled with panic.

"Calm your tits," snarls Johanna.

I give her a menacing glare, which only causes her to chuckle. What is wrong with this woman? Is she really that psycho? I've always heard that the arena messes with your head, but now I believe it, because I've witnessed it firsthand.

"I wasn't talking to you," I hiss.

"Blight I think you were right, this one does have potential," laughs Johanna. "He definitely has some fight in him."

"I told you," says Blight, who's grinning from ear to ear. "I know potential when I see it."

At this moment I don't care what they see, I just want to know what my mentor's strategy is - I catch myself from finishing the thought. Are the Games changing me already? Am I already becoming rude and arrogant? As I look down at the pattern carpet, I can't help but think. _Why am I acting like such a mad man? _

"I was writing down the other tributes or the ones you saw as threats," answers Blight. "I was going to attempt to gather more information about them at the tribute parade."

"O'," I'm beyond baffled. "Well, thank you." See there was nothing to fear or fret. Blight is trying to help me. Before I say another word, I need to get one thing straight and that is - my mentor is here to help me.

"That's what I'm here for," soothes Blight.

"As touching as this moment is," interrupts Johanna. "We have busy schedule, so Gabby, can you please show them to their new rooms, because I imagine they're both exhausted."

"I was getting there," complains Gabby. "I was just trying not to be rude."

"Sure you were," teases Johanna.

"Must you always be so childish," yaps Gabby. "Very well, follow me children, so I can lead you to your quarters."

"See you both in the morning," gestures Blight.

"Get some beauty sleep doll face, because you sure do need it," cackles Johanna.

I'm beginning to think that she enjoys teasing others. "Johanna must have really low self-esteem or insecurities, because if it's not me she's bullying, then its Riley, and if it's not Riley, then its Gabby." Does this woman ever take a break from being arsine?

Riley and I exit the room, following closely behind Gabby. We travel through several carts of the train until we reach a door with a remarkable silver base. Without hesitation, Gabby swings open the brown door and sings, "Home sweet Home!"

Looking into the room, I'm star struck. This room is everything I never had. There's an enormous bed lined with blue, silk sheets. I glance away from the bed to find a small table flooded with fruit and other delicacies.

Gabby dances over to the small table and grabs a small remote. She holds it up making sure to get my attention. "See this," she says. "Just speak the food you desire and it will be delivered."

Well that's interesting. I'll have to try that out before we get to the Capitol, but then again what food would I even ask for. It's not like I've tried that many foods. I know I'll ask for something like Salmon, since I've only had it once and that was a special occasion. I remember the taste being so explosive.

The butcher back in District 7 sells Salmon, but because it's so pricey, we don't eat it. My parents like to stick to the cheaper meats like pork, quail, and chicken. I remember when Mrs. Willows gave me a chicken one time as payment. That was by far the best gift I've ever eaten.

"Oakley this is your room," states Gabby. "Riley, if you'll come with me, yours is right down the hall."

As my eyes sweep across the room, I see a huge walk in shower. On the wall of the shower is a huge control box with over a hundred buttons to push. Why are so many buttons, and what do they even do? I look around for some kind of bath because that looks too complicated, but sadly I don't see a metal bin or tub in sight, which only causes me to groan loudly. All I need is a quick scrub down, not some fancy cleansing.

"Well, enjoy your new quarters, but don't stay up too late!" sings Gabby. "Blight will be here at 8:00 to take you down for breakfast, so make sure you're up. Also, the shower has a manual if you need it. See you in the morning!" As the door slams, I think. _Is this really a magnificent quarters, or is it just a fancy cage?_

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews, you guys are awesome! Also, a thanks is do to my lovely beta readers, who are so amazing! Well did you like the chapter? Are you guys enjoying the story so far? Does anyone else think something is wrong with Riley, or is Oakley just being paranoid? And what about the other tributes: Glitz and Boarus? What do you guys think about them based upon first impressions? Let me know your thoughts in the reviews. :)**

**I'm going to try this thing where I reply to your reviews:**

**_IceVeinVillians_****_- I can't wait to introduce more tributes too! Did you like the ones I introduced so far? Like Glitz and Boarus? _**

**_luvakatsuki3_****_- I found the (mini-bar) part hilarious as well. Thank you so much for the all compliments that was really touching :). I am extremely passionate when it comes to my writing, so I'm glad it shows. Also, about Oakley, you'll just have to find out if he remains strong! The Hunger Games has a way of breaking the strong...if that makes sense. _**

**_Don'thaveaname_****_- You are correct, Riley will play a huge part in this story. But I have a feeling that you'll be shocked in how she plays that part..._**

**_GallantGrove_****_- Yes, I wrote the song. Thanks so much for the compliment, I try my best to do an amazing job! And to answer your question, no, Riley will not be the protagonist. _**

**_IronicDuck_****_- My heart was pounding while writing this chapter so I understand where you're coming from. Thanks so much for all the wonderful compliments, it means a lot coming from a fellow OC writer. :) Also, I'm glad your loving this story! So were you happy to see Johanna? _**

**_TennisQueen12_****_- I'm glad your enjoying all of Oakley's feelings and thoughts. Thanks so much for all the wonderful compliments as well! I would say that romance is a shot in the dark between Riley and Oakley lol. O' and was you happy that Johanna was in the chapter? You were right, it was fun writing her! _**

**_HeartfeltSorrow14_****_- No, you cannot steal my writing. lol But thank you so much for the lovely compliment. I'm glad that your liking the story! I believe the little details or flashback make it so much better. Also with the senses, one of my betas recommended that I incorporate more senses so that's why I did that! _**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

**Chapter 4**

As I wander aimlessly around my new quarters, I think. _Why is this room so fancy?_ We're only staying here for a day, then we're at the Capitol, so it seems to be such a waste. But then again, this is the Capitol.

I make my first stop at the basket of cakes and muffins. I know I just ate an hour ago, but as I look at all the delicious desserts, I can't help but want one. Before I regret it, I pick up a plump muffin and shove it into my mouth. As I bite down, purple juices explode from the dough, drenching my lips. As the purple liquid trickles down my face, I reach for the decorative table cloth, using it to wipe the plumb dye from my face. The Capitol people would probably aghast at my manners.

Leaving a trail of clothes behind me, I stagger over to the shower. As I get closer, I think. _I hope I can figure this thing out._ Stepping into the shower, I begin pushing all kinds of buttons. Maybe I should have read the manual first. Before I have time to think about my decisions, foam, steamy wax, and soap come shooting onto my filthy skin. After an eternity of scrubbing and washing, my skin is finally free of all the Capitol products, which is a relief.

Stepping out of the shower, heat instantly rushes up my body. What's going on? Looking down, I notice the flickering tile. I guess this is some sort of heating pad, but then again, where are the towels? I chuckle as my question stirs up a saying my friend Levon would say, "I wonder if the Capitol uses their mother's towels to dry off too?" It was a joke we had.

The joke developed when Axel, Levon, and I were out working in the rain one afternoon, and Axel's mother came rushing out with a towel. I remember her words like it was just yesterday. "Axel sweetheart! Here's a towel, I don't want you catching a cold." After that day, Levon would always rag Axel by calling him a 'momma's boy', but for me, I envied him. In all honesty, I would've killed for my mother to care like Axel's did.

I stand on the pad until the heat dries my wet body. As I stand there, an aroma sneaks up my nose, and that's when I smell the scent of roses. Why does it smell like those reeking roses again? And where is the grotesque smell coming from? As more waves of the stench splash across the room, I move about frantically trying to find the rotting plant.

Scanning the room, I spot a table with a vase of flowers sitting on it. Sprinting over to them, I take in a whiff. Nope, it's not them. As I turn back around, my arm knocks over the vase causing it to go crashing to the floor. With glass shattered everywhere, I quickly attempt to pick up the pieces. As I bend down, the awful smell hits me again, and that's when I realize where the vile stench is coming from. It's me!

I wobble back over to the shower, turning it back on. As the water presses up against my bare skin I can't help but think. _Of all the scents, I press the one that smells like roses._ As I scrub away, my decontamination is interrupted early when I hear a sudden banging at the door. My heart sinks into my stomach. Who could that be?

I quickly turn off the shower and slide back on my reaping trousers. Dripping wet, I creep over to the door. Did someone hear all the commotion I made earlier? As I slide the door open, my gaze is met by a dark skinned avox. Before I can blink or mutter an apology, he's on the floor cleaning up the pieces of glass. Watching him tidy my mess, a wave of guilt washes over me. Because of my carelessness, someone else is cleaning up after me. The Capitol already makes their lives miserable, so I don't need to add to it by acting like a child and breaking things.

After a few minutes, the avox is gone, and I'm alone once more. Stripping off my soaked pants, I make my way back over to the heating pad. I bet that avox thought I was a wreck, standing there half naked and all.

I walk over to a huge dresser, and as I open it, I see that it's full of pants, sweaters, shirts - any article of clothing I could desire. I pull out a pair of silk, blue pajamas, which look comfortable. I slid into my silk pajamas not bothering with a shirt. I always slept shirtless at home, mainly because it was always so hot. Easing into bed, I rub my fingers up and down the cool sheet of fabric.

Laying there, I can't help but think about my parents. Did they watch the recap of the reapings? Do they still think I have a chance at winning? Did my mother break down again or is she holding it together? Did they eat? And what about Axel and Levon, how do they feel? Do they believe in me, or am I just a dead man walking. I really wish I'd gotten to tell them goodbye.

District 7 has a strict policy where they only allow family members to say goodbye. The rule was developed after a tribute's friends tried to break him out of one of the windows. Instead of being like a normal district and just putting bars on the windows, Mayor Vine just decides that the goodbyes will only be a luxury for that of the family members. I wasn't surprised when she made this new decree, because Vine has a habit of brown nosing when it comes to the Capitol. She's always scheming or attempting to do anything that can grant her a higher social status among Panem.

Wrapping the sheets over my head, I know now is the time to cry if I need to. No one can see me, and if I do, the bloodshot look in my eyes will have faded by morning. Now is the time for me to be weak. This will be the only time I will be granted that luxury. I wait for the tears to streak down my cheeks, but they never do, instead my eyes flutter shut and exhaustion overtakes me.

When my eyes flip open, I know it's eight o' clock, because I hear the beating against the door. I must have over slept! Was I supposed to set an alarm? Because if so, I had no idea. I've never slept this late before. Usually I'm up when our neighbor's rooster crows.

"Get up! It's time for breakfast. Gabby won't like it if we're late!"

Dashing out of the bed, I yell, "I'm coming!" I rush over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of pants and a navy shirt. After fighting with my rugged shoes for a few minutes, I finally bolt to the door. When I get there, I swing open the door and standing there is Blight, tapping his foot impatiently.

"What took you so long?" snaps Blight.

"I had to get dressed," I answer defensively. I don't see why he's frustrated, it wasn't like I was taking my sweet time on purpose, I just over slept, which makes sense considering yesterday's circumstances.

"Well, we need to hurry," instructs Blight. "We'll be at the Capitol before you know it."

Before I can answer Blight starts walking. His pace is so fast that I nearly have to sprint to catch up. When I finally reach him, he waste no time making small. "You got any friends back home?" he asks. I nod, I only have a few but that's all I need really. "What about a girl?" Blight gives me a sly smirk. I blush, but shake my head. I don't have a girl back home, well not yet, anyways.

"You're a quiet one," remarks Blight, as we make our way to the doorway leading into our destination. I just nod and smile, but before we enter through the door, I grip his arm tightly, which causes him to stammer to a halt. "I have to win; there is no other option in matter, and you have to show me, I mean teach me, how." Blight looks at me, his hazel eyes staring into mine, "I will teach you everything I know."

As I enter the dining cart, I see Johanna and Riley both sitting at the table. They seem to be engaged in a conversation or maybe an argument. I watch as an avox fills their bowls with an orange soup. "Well look who decided to join us," laughs Johanna. "It's sleeping beauty."

"Don't be shy," nudges Blight.

As I sit, I notice that the table is decorated with a feast of food: eggs, sausage, bacon, toast; anything Riley or I could crave is on this table. "Well help yourself," says Blight. "O' and if you want something that isn't on the table, just ask."

As I stuff my face with fluffy eggs, I glance around the table to only realize that someone is missing. Where's Gabby? And as if on cue, Gabby comes prancing into the room, her outfit of choice being more flamboyant than yesterday's. Her face is still the same, powdered white, but her green spikes are now braided and covered with pink, yellow, and orange flowers, which match her floral blouse.

"Good Morning everyone! We have a big, big, day ahead of us," exclaims Gabby as she takes a seat at the table.

As Gabby sits at the table, I shovel in more food. With each spoonful, I feel my stomach stretching. When I decide I've had enough, I snap out of my feeding frenzy. Leaning back in my chair, I watch Riley as she sips on some type of clear, yellow liquid. What is she drinking? "It's called apple juice," mutters Johanna. I guess she noticed me staring.

Apple juice? I wonder what it taste like, because apples are one of the few fruits we have back home. I've eaten plenty, but I've never drank their juice. To be honest, I didn't even know apples had juice in them.

"May I have some?" I ask.

Without hesitation an avox fills up my glass with the clear liquid, which I gulp down ruthlessly. It tastes really sweet, not how imagined it, but still, it's delicious. "Can I have another glass," I beg. The avox smiles, then refills my glass, but this time, I drink it slowly, letting my taste buds examine the flavor. After my second glass, I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't taste like the apples back home.

"I wouldn't drink too much Oakley dear, because then we'll never get you out of the restroom," giggles Gabby. "The Capitol's apple juice has the tendency to run right through you."

"You'll be fine," reassures Blight.

"Stop babying him," moans Johanna. "If he wants apple juice let him drink apple juice."

"I wasn't babying him," retorts Gabby. "Besides, maybe someone should've babied you more, because you're making quite a mess."

As Gabby's obnoxious cackling fills the room, my eyes find Johanna. Her face is red and her brow furrowed. She looks mad. And then the questions start to flow in, like: What is she about to do? Am I about to witness my first murder?

"I think it's best if I excuse myself, because if I don't, I fear that I might attempt to kill Aster," growls Johanna.

"It's Gabby!"

"Anyways, if you need Riley and me, we will be in the next cart over talking strategy and such," adds Johanna before she dismisses herself from the table.

"Very well," says Blight.

As Riley and Johanna exit the room, Johanna and Gabby exchange death stares. It's more than obvious that Johanna and Gabby hate each other. If I had to choose a side, it would probably be Gabby's, just because Johanna scares me.

"Well that was handled in a mature manner," yaps Gabby. "For a second there I thought she was going to go all savage on me."

Gabby chuckles nervously before excusing herself from the table. Well our first breakfast has gone great.

"Well that was a lovely breakfast," I say.

"Trust me, there are many more to come," laughs Blight as he adds another piece of toast to his plate. I watch as he takes a sip from his coffee mug. I guess he needs something to help him function in the morning.

My father's the same way, but who could blame him since he gets up at five o' clock in the morning. The woodcutters have to be out in the pines right before daybreak. The reason behind this is the Peacekeepers like for them to start chopping as soon as light fills the sky. Thinking about it, being a woodcutter is what I've had to look forward to my whole life, but not anymore. My career choice changed as of yesterday.

I smile as I watch Blight smother his piece of bread with think purple jam. "Have you tried this jam?" asks Blight. I guess he caught me staring too. I need to be more nonchalant when I'm observing someone. "No," I answer.

"Well you should," suggests Blight. "It's amazing, especially on this honey, wheat bread."

"I'm actually full, but maybe I'll try it tomorrow morning," I say, allowing the avox to take away my plate. If I try to fit any more food in my stomach, I'm going to explode. I have a feeling that I don't want to see food for a…while.

Noticing we're alone, I think. _Should I take this time to ask for some advice or would it be better to wait until we get to the Capitol._ What should I do? Should I just ask? I might not get another chance to be completely alone with Blight. Well we're not completely alone right now, because Gabby is sitting in one of the leather chairs reading over her schedule.

"How do I get sponsors?" I blurt out, my voice echoing louder than I hoped.

Blight nearly chokes on his toast. I'm guessing my question caught him off guard. Gabby, on the hand, just giggles, "Blight, I agree with what you said before, I too see potential here." The kind compliment brings a smile upon my face – maybe Gabby isn't so bad after all.

"I'm going to go get Johanna and Riley because we'll be at the Capitol soon," instructs Gabby. "If you plan to talk strategy, I suggest you do it now."

"First, before I can help you, I need to know everything about you. Do you have any hidden talents or skills? Are you decent with an axe?" asks Blight.

"Well, I know a little about plants, mainly just the ones that are indigenous to District 7. And yes, I'm decent with an axe, considering I've been using one since I was ten."

I remember the day my dad handed me a small hatchet and instructed me to cut a few logs for the fire. Being ten at the time, I was a little frightened, but I gripped the hatchet and went to chopping. Sadly, it took me the whole day to just cut four logs. After, I was so exhausted that I nearly collapsed to the floor. My dad chuckled at this before saying, "Son, you made me proud today." That day is one of my favorite memories.

"Well, then I expect you show off your axe skills during training," answers Blight. "Now back to getting sponsors. Well, you have to get people to like you."

I look at him, confusedly, before asking the most obvious question, "How do I do that?"

Blight chuckles, "You have to treat the Games like the Capitol civilians treat them. Be just as excited as they are. Also, a little praising doesn't hurt."

"Praising?" I ask.

"Like compliments to the Capitol civilians. You could start with Gabby, your prep team, and stylist," says Blight. "The plan behind this is that they might brag enough about you that it will cause someone else to sponsor you." He pauses, "Does that make sense?"

I can't help but smile at Blight's words. I never thought of it like that, I always thought that a set number of rich people were the sponsors, but in reality anyone is. Sponsors are the people who supply gifts to tributes in the arena. In many situations, a sponsor can save your life. Say that you're starving and you need food, well they can send it – though it isn't cheap. So I need to make a note to be genuinely nice to every Capitol person I see, because these people know fake like the back of their hand.

"Can you give me some more advice?" I ask.

"All you have to do is ask," answers Blight.

"How do I find shelt-"

Blight's words cut me off. "If you can get to the Cornucopia, there will be tarps and tents for you to use, but if you can't, than your best bet is to sleep in a cave or up in a tree. Virtually anywhere you can stay dry and alive."

"Should I light a fire?" I ask.

"Heavens no!" scolds Blight. "Especially not at night. A fire would attract tributes and you don't want that."

Confused, I blurt out, "So how do I stay warm?"

"You go to the Cornucopia and get supplies, or you make do with nature," answers Blight. "The choice is yours."

"But doesn't the bloodbath take place at the Cornucopia?" I ask. "Besides, I think I'd rather live without supplies then die trying to get them."

"You say that now, but when you're freezing, starving, or weaponless you're going to wish you had supplies," he pauses, "But hey, what do I know, it isn't like I've went to the Cornucopia and survived."

"I just don't want to be a bloodbath," I mutter.

"As long as you get in and get out, you won't," answers Blight. "Besides, you have me, and I don't plan on letting you die in the arena."

It's a relief to hear my mentor say that, because I too have plans of not dying in the arena. Besides, for all its worth, I can't win this alone. It's going to take the wits of my mentor and the money from some generous sponsors if I want to make it out alive.

I go to ask my next question, but I stop when I hear Gabby's voice. Well, they're back earlier than expected. I wonder what Johanna and Riley talked about. Did they discuss strategy like Blight and I, or did they just sit and stare at each other? I could see the later happening since Riley isn't that talkative.

"We'll have to continue this talk later," says Blight, which I nod in agreement to.

I watch as Gabby, Johanna, and Riley walk back into the room. Johanna seems more frustrated than she was before, which is surprising. Did Gabby and Johanna get into it again, or did her mentoring session not go according to plan?

There's a loud thud as Johanna flumps into one of the chairs. "This mentor business is going to be the death of me," snarls Johanna. "Especially when I have to deal with tributes like her." She glares at Riley, who's blankly staring out the window. What did they talk about? Did Riley say something to Johanna, or is this some type of strategy?

I shift my eyes over to Blight, searching him eagerly for an answer. He doesn't speak, just shrugs his shoulders. Looks like he has no idea what Johanna means either. Surely he knows that she's clever and would do anything to keep her tribute alive so maybe this is all just an act.

"Hello?" growls Johanna. "Is anyone listening to me?"

"To your whining," asks Gabby. "Yes, we're listening. It's kind of hard not to dear."

Here they go again. Can't they go five minutes without making a snide or rude remark? I have a feeling that in the end District 7 is going to lose more than just a tribute. Besides, I'm almost to the point where I want one of them gone. It's only day one and it's this bad. I can't imagine four more days like this.

"Don't you have a schedule to memorize?" teases Johanna. "Because from the looks of yesterday, you seemed a bit clueless dear." I watch as a smile perches upon Johanna's pale lips. She knows she's succeeded in ruffling her opponent's feathers.

"Well, I believe it's safe to say that we all don't have the luxury of winging it," snips Gabby, "Some of us have standards in which we must abide."

"That's what you call standards?" jokes Johanna.

Instead of commenting, Gabby just strides over to the table, plucking one of the wilted flowers from her hair along the way. When she gets to the table, she's slings it at Johanna.

"So we're tossing flowers now?" mocks Johanna. "What's the occasion?"

"I just thought you'd like my gift, seeing as you and that flower share something in common?" giggles Gabby.

"And that being," asks Johanna.

"You're both useless to me," laughs Gabby. "Can't you see that the flower's dead."

"Awe, looks like you and it will have something in common soon as well," snarls Johanna as an evil grins sweeps across her face.

The tension in the room is at an all-time high, and I can say honestly say that I've never felt so uncomfortable. Even Riley seemed a little unhinged by her mentor's comment. I think it's because we've never heard someone threaten someone from the Capitol before. Is it even allowed? Or did Johanna just overstep her boundary?

"Looks like we're here," interrupts Blight, an attempt to lighten up the mood. "Are you two ready?"

"Looks like we don't have a choice," mutter Riley. When I hear her words, I can't help but grin, because the girl makes a valid point, we don't have a choice.

I watch out the window as we head into the Capitol, my eyes scanning the glorious city. All the buildings are marvelous here. The giant white columns on the buildings are so beautiful. The water that surrounds the Capitol is so clear. The water we have back home is anything but clear. Most times, we boil our water just to be on the safe side. My mom says that the heat kills most of the impurities.

Thinking about water, I'll have to make sure my water is purified while in the arena, because I remember a few years ago back when a boy from district 9 drunk from a murky pond and got some deadly parasite, which caused his stomach to swell the size of a pumpkin. The boy didn't last much longer after that.

I watch the beautiful waterfall until my view goes black. We must be docking into the train station or going through a tunnel. As we move forward, I hear shouts, screams, and cries. These are the chants from the Capitol civilians, who sound like their excitement has turned into complete madness.

As we dock, the windows fill with light, and the screams of my crazed fans echo through the train. "That's Oakley!" one screams. Another, "Oakley, Oakley I love you!" As I watch the swarm of colorful people horde around the windows, I feel uneasy. These people are unstable. As more thoughts creep into my mind, I begin to step away from the glass. As I do, Blight's words come creeping in, "You have to make people like you." I step forward, a smile quickly plastering upon my face. I have to appear just as excited as they are. As I wave, I think, _I have to work this crowd. _First impressions are everything in this day and time, so I have to make a good one , this crowd could help me get sponsors and I need those to stay alive.

I put on my best smile and start waving to my fans, trying to convince them that I'm just as happy to be here as they are. I continue this act for what seems like an eternity. By the end, my face feels numb and my arm aches. I sigh with relief as the train conducts to a stop.

"Well done Oakley," compliments Blight.

"It's nice to see that one of you is enjoying the fine festivity," yaps Gabby as she directs a glare at Riley. From what she's implying, I'm assuming that Riley didn't wave or pay any attention to our crazed fans.

"Come along! Come along!" waves Gabby as she struts out the door. I glance over to Blight, who's whispering something to a bitter Johanna. I can tell she's displeased by her tribute's lack of participation. Johanna may hate the Capitol, but she knows that you need them if you want to win the Hunger Games. We follow Gabby off the train and into one of the towering buildings.

"In a few minutes, you will meet your remake crew and stylist," exclaims Gabby, her smile brightening as she sees familiar faces.

As I walk, Blight catches my arm. "Remember what we talked about Oakley, give them praises," he pauses, "O' and make sure you don't complain while they're making you glamorous." We both laugh at the thought of me looking glamorous. I would be mortified if I came out looking like Gabby.

"Hurry along, hurry along!" commands Gabby. "We don't have much time before the Tribute Parade!"

The Tribute Parade! I totally forgot. The Tribute Parade is where all the tributes dress in costumes that generally reflect what their district represents. So since our district is lumber we're more than likely going to be dressed like trees. O' the joy of wearing a tree costume. For the occasion, each tribute receives a stylist that will design their look. Our stylist will remain with us until we head into the arena.

As I get closer to the colossal structure, I think. _During the parade tonight, the whole population of Panem will be watching, sponsors included._ Tonight will be the first time the sponsors see us, so tonight is definitely the night to make an impression.

* * *

**A/N: Wow 32 reviews! You guys are awesome! **

**I would like to say thank you to luvakatsuki3, who is my beta (she really does an amazing job - fixes all my tedious errors.) Also, I believe a special thanks is due to ME4427 for spreading the word about my fanfiction - they even posted my story/summary on their profile, which really means a lot. In all, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, and I hope you guys keep them coming! :) **

**And like always: Read, review, but most importantly enjoy. :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

All I see is red light, which causes a lump of cotton to build in my throat. What are these Capitol people doing to me?

I watch hesitantly as Vic, a man with gelled blue hair and a matching mustache, holds a laser a few inches from my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and cringe as I feel the cool metal glide up against my skin.

"What are you doing?" I ask weakly.

"Stops hair growth," mutters Vic plainly.

"So I won't have facial hair now?" I ask, hoping our proceeding conversation will take my mind off the laser.

"Yep," answers Vic in a blasé tone.

And I thought I was quiet. It seems I've met my match, and to think it's a Capitol person.

Since I arrived at the Remake Center, Vic hasn't even said a full sentence, which I find strange, considering that most Capitol people don't know when to stop talking.

"How long does it take?" I ask.

"It goes by faster if you don't speak."

Well that was rude; all I asked was a simple question. I'm starting to get the feeling that this guy isn't too happy to have me as a tribute. I wonder why; what did I do to him?

I try to look around but I can't move, so instead I just stare at my torturer. I watch as the man continues to glide the laser up and down my face, making sure not to miss any part that grows hair.

"Finished," he exclaims.

Vic walks over and puts the laser into its compartment, his shoes squeaking along the way. As I hear him ruffling through a drawer, I think. _What terrible torture will I endure next?_

When he finally comes back, he holds pair of small silver tweezers. "Now we need to fix your eyebrows," he instructs. I jerk as he plucks away at my bushy eyebrows. "Stop moving," He barks. I'm sorry, but I've never done this before. I mean, the whole getting hair ripped from my face is a new concept to me.

After a few more plucks, Vic finally stops. _Finally, it's over_, I think as I let sigh of relief. I can't imagine how the Capitol people go through that on a daily bases. As he puts down the tweezers, Vic warns me that my face may be sore for a few days. _Great, pain and soreness before the arena. _

The door swings open and two more Capitol people come into the room. "Sorry we're late!" chirps one, a man with shaggy purple hair. Starring at his violet mane, I think. _Looks like I'm not the only one in need of a trimming. _

The other two members of my prep team waste no time getting busy on my transformation. The man with the purple hair, whose name is Thelus, gets to work on polishing my skin; I'm stripped in the process.

Thelus sprays me down with cool water, and then begins drenching me in some type of foam. Before I know it he has a brush in hand and is scrubbing. As he scrubs, grime flees from my body, along with what feels like half my skin.

A woman with cascading red hair and bold make-up starts applying a thin layer of blush to my face. I can't say how awkward I feel as the woman, whose name I've learned is Pharrah, applies more make-up. I think she senses my discomfort, because she reassures me that she won't make me look feminine.

"I almost forgot!" exclaims Pharrah. "Congratulations!"

"You must feel so honored!" adds Thelus.

"I bet he feels just peachy," snickers Vic.

I'm beginning to grow tired of this man. Why must he always be so rude? I think about saying a smart remark, but Blight's advice pursues me not to. I have to praise them, not insult them.

"Yeah, I feel pretty honored," I lie. "But I'm also I little nervous."

"Why?" blurts Thelus.

Why? Well, let's see I'm going into an arena where I could be killed. And then there's the thought that I have to get all dressed up for this parade, and I can't forget about the interview. I'm dreading that day the most; I'm not much of a talker.

"The Parade," I answer.

"You'll be fine!" sings Pharrah. "Besides, you're going to look amazing once we're finished with you!"

I smile at her optimistic attitude. That's one of the positive things about the Capitol people: they always seem so happy. Thinking about their perky behavior, I know it'll be hard to hate them…well, except Vic, who I do hate.

I twiddle my thumbs as my prep team continues to polish my appearance. They pluck stray hairs, file my dingy finger nails, and even rub this silky, smooth lotion on my face.

"This lotion will dissolve those undesirable bags under your eyes," states Vic in a monotone voice.

"They're not undesirable!" squeals Pharrah. "They just show he's not the best at sleeping!"

A toothy grin emerges across my face when I hear her remark. I'm guessing it was a joke – an incentive to lighten the mood – and it worked.

Though it was a joke, it was true. Sleeping isn't something I'm the best at. At home my mind just seems to get clouded with problems or tasks and I end up tossing and turning all through the night. It's a dreadful routine, but I've learned to deal with it.

"Let's start on his hair." yaps Thelus.

"I think you mean mop," snips Vic.

"Vic, what's got you in such a bad mood?" asks Pharrah. "Is it because you got downgraded to a higher district?"

"No!" snaps Vic. "I put in a request for transfer. Everyone knows I was tired of working on those bimbos from 4."

"That's not what I heard," mutters Thelus as he cups his hand over his mouth. I'm assuming he wasn't supposed to say that.

"And exactly what did you hear?" threatens Vic.

"Just the usual rumors," waves Thelus, panic filling his eyes. By the looks of it, I would say he's afraid of Vic. But why?

"Well those are just rumors," huffs Vic, "Plain and simple."

By the way Vic's eyes shift, I can tell he's lying. They aren't just rumors, which means he didn't put in a request.

He was downgraded.

But why? What did he do to get moved all the way from District 4 – a Career District – to District 7?

A Career District is a district that trains their tributes before the games. It's illegal to do so, but Districts 1, 2 and 4 do it anyway. The training takes place in special academy, and when they turn eighteen they volunteer. By then, they're ruthless, trained murderers.

Vic and Thelus waste no time snipping away at my hair. Though it actually took them a while to start, because they had to wash the clumps of dried grease from my hair. Thelus worked quietly, humming a tune, but Vic insisted on saying rude remarks like, "The things you districts put in your hair are so revolting." I ignored his comments and kept quiet.

Sitting there, I listen to their gossip, which consists of him or her buying a new wig, jewels, or having a new surgery done. Everything my prep team speaks about is materialistic, and it bewilders me how superficial the Capitol actually is - how they depict everything upon the items they had rather than the people that surrounded them.

"Perfect!" sings Thelus. "Just perfect!"

"My oh my!" purrs Pharrah. "Don't you look handsome."

"I knew he had potential!" exclaims Thelus.

"That's enough praising you two," commands Vic. "We need to go get Linnea."

"Who's Linnea?" I ask.

"Your stylist," answers Pharrah. "The one who's going to dress you exquisitely for tonight."

After a few minutes of hugs and kisses from my prep team – except Vic, who just gave me a menacing glare - they departed from the room.

Alone, my curiosity was starting to get the best of me. I hadn't seen my transformation yet, and I was itching to. After all, Pharrah did say I look handsome. The thought makes me blush.

I remember the time at school when I was talking to Aster… I mean Amber, and she gave me a flirty smile. At the sight of this flirtatious move, redness instantly surged in my cheeks. I was so embarrassed, but Amber wasn't. She just giggled and skipped away as if it was nothing. After that encounter I was determined to be more confident around girls.

I wait, and wait, and wait for someone to enter. But no one does.

I look down at my shaking hands, in a few minutes I will get to meet my stylist, the person who will be one of my largest assets in these Games. And hopefully, I'll get one who will be extraordinary.

Stylists vary. You have the ones who believe the best costume is the one you arrived on this earth in - your birthday suit. Then there are those who like to alter your skin color. I remember one year a stylist from District 4 decided to dye his tributes blue to symbolize the ocean.

I shiver as a cool breeze travels through the room. Why is it so Cold in here? I tug the flimsy robe around my naked body, but it doesn't help. I'm still freezing.

Slam! The door hits the wall, and I nearly fall off the table. What's going on? What was that?

I watch as a woman dipped in pink prances into the room. I'm not exaggerating when I say she's dipped in pink. Everything the woman has on is a horrendous shade of pink, from her ringlet curls to her tight fitting dress.

Wait.

I've seen this woman before. She was the girl from District 8's stylist last year. She was the one who was praised heavily during the interviews. The girl's costume was a mystical of colors and it was amongst the crowd favorites.

"Congratulations!" carols the woman. "My name is Linnea, and I'll be your stylist." She flashes me a smile, revealing her pearly white teeth. I chuckle when I notice the streak of lipstick on her front tooth.

"Thanks." I say. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes," sings Linnea. "Ask away!"

I look down at the white tile floor. I can't take this woman seriously until she gets that gunk off of her teeth. "Were you the one who designed the District 8 female's costume last year?" My question lingers in the air, and suddenly I feel foolish. What if I have the wrong woman? That wouldn't be good.

Linnea looks at me with eyebrows raised, "Why yes I did! And she got a few sponsors because of that wonderful costume. Though sadly those sponsors couldn't save her when she got stabbed by that sword. " Linnea wipes dramatically at her eye.

"So are you going to help me get sponsors too?" I ask, hoping to change subjects.

Linnea looks at me confused then bursts into laughter, "You're funny!" She lets out an obnoxious snort. "Of course I'll get you sponsors!"

I look up from the floor as soon as the words leave her mouth. A rush of relief washes over me. I smile and she smiles back, then Linnea says, "Now follow me so we can get better acquainted."

I walk into a small room. It's rather bare besides the small table and couch. As we get closer, I see a tray of food has already been placed on the table. On the tray is a roasted duck with red potatoes, which are covered in some thick, zesty sauce. I've never had duck before. It's really pricy in 7, so my father likes to avoid it, and I don't blame him.

"Are you going to sit down?" asks Linnea, her eyes giving me a worrisome look.

I swallow hard. I'm still standing. Well, that's awkward. As I approach the plush couch, I think. _Stop drooling and focus._

"Yes," I answer. "I was just enjoying the scenery first." Anyone could tell this is a lie. Or maybe not anyone, because Linnea seems to believe me. I kind of feel bad for lying to her so early, but then again, she's buttering me up for slaughter.

"Well, you can gogle over those things later," laughs Linnea. "We have matters to discuss. So hurry up and eat your lunch."

I scarf down the duck and potatoes, wishing I had taken more time to enjoy their savory flavor, but Linnea told me to eat fast and that's something I'm used to doing. Back home, during our lunch break, we would have fifteen minutes to scarf down our lunches, so shoveling food in is something I'm a pro at.

"So Oakley," starts Linnea. "Do you have any suggestions as to how you'd like your costume? I know some tributes aren't fond of the nude aspect, while others like to embrace it."

_Where did that come from?_ I think. One minute she's asking for suggestions, the next she's talking about _nudity_. The sound of the word makes my gut cringe. I want to avoid going nude at all costs.

"Are you alright?" asks Linnea. "You look a little red. Hopefully all that nude talk didn't fluster you." She ends her sentence with another obnoxious laugh. The one I'm beginning to hate, and I've only heard it twice.

"No, you didn't fluster me," I answer plainly. Of course this woman flustered me, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Well… good!" cherps Linnea. "Let's get started then!"

When I've finished lunch, Linnea takes me into the other room. This room contains all sorts of gadgets. Most look like they're used for measuring body parts.

Linnea leads me over to a silver chair, where she then straps a leather belt with notches around my waist. The leather is rough against my bare skin. Linnea removed my thin gown, because she said it could set off the measurements. I highly doubt that. The gown is extremely thin, too thin if you ask me.

So now I sit here naked, as a woman I barely know adjusts this belt contraption around my waist.

"There!" exclaims Linnea. "Now we just need to tighten it."

_Tighten?_ I think. What does that me- I twitch as I feel Linnea jerk the strap tighter, a growl escaping my lips as the pain in my stomach increases. What is she doing? Is this some sort of pre-game torture?

"Sorry about that!" squeaks Linnea. "But I have to make sure the measurements are exact."

"It's cool," I say reassuringly, "Just don't kill me."

"I won't," chuckles Linnea. "Besides, what fun would it be if you died this early?"

_What did she just say? _

I bite my tongue to block any sarcasm from escaping my lips. Blight told me specifically not to offend them. But Fun? Does she really think dying is fun? Or watching kids die is fun? Because it's not. It's cruel.

Linnea catches onto my discomfort and puts up the belt. From then on the room is quiet. Linnea measures my arms, chest, head, and feet, and when she's finally done with all that, I wait, something I seem to be doing a lot of as of late.

"Oakley!" screams Linnea. "I know exactly what I want you to look like for tonight, and it's going to be breathtaking!"

Looking at Linnea's bright, green eyes and powdered face, my mind goes blank. I should respond, show her that I'm happy, but I don't. I just sit there awkwardly, staring at her_. I really need to work on my people skills. _

Linnea waves off the silence and hastily grabs her clip board. "I'll be right back with your costume Oakley!" Then she scurries out of the room like a flash of pink lightning.

I wait in the room for what seems like an eternity. I sit, staring at the steel clock on the wall in front of me. How long does it take for someone to make a costume? I mean, I already know it's going to deal with lumber. More than likely it will be a tree.

Every year, District 7's costumes are the same: Tree, bush, tree, bush. It's so repetitive that I imagine the Capitol people are dying for some originality. For something that's not brown and covered with leaves.

When Linnea finally comes back, her face is plastered with a distorted grin, "I love it!" she cries. The noise is so piercing that I have to cover my ears. _This woman needs a muzzle._

I watch as she holds up my costume, waving it in the air excitedly, "Well let's get you dressed." I cringe as she strips me down to my bare minimal. I'm learning that modesty isn't a trait in the Capitol.

Linnea slips the green, thick bush-like object around my waist. I call it a bush because it reminds me of the ferns back home, the ones that are green, prickly, and most times filled with insects. Thankfully, this bush is only green.

I attempt to steady myself as Linnea wraps vines around my arms, torso, and legs. The vines are thin and remind me of the white noodles I had on the train. They're definitely not like the vines back home, the ones which are covered in thorns.

Linnea finishes my dazzling costume with dabs of brown makeup here and there on my chest and ribcage. She says she's trying to give me a glow, and that she wants me to look at one with nature. I'm unsure of what that means, most of what she says is gibberish anyways, so I doubt it means anything important.

"This costume wouldn't have worked if I didn't have a tribute with such a nice physical appearance," coos Linnea. "I mean, you may not be bulging with muscles, but you seem toned. And the sponsors will love that…especially the ladies." She gives me a wink that sends a flush of red to my cheeks. _I need to stop doing that._

I look down at my bare feet. I assume I won't be wearing any shoes tonight. It doesn't bother me though; in District 7 we sometimes travel barefooted, though that mostly depends on the season and the weather.

I adjust my costume, or bush, so it covers my hip bone. I can't say I'm impressed with Linnea's originality. I mean, all my costume consists of is a green shrub and a few vines. Nothing fancy, nothing breathtaking. I was expecting something more from her. Looks like I had my expectations set a little too high.

"Before we go get Blight I need to add a few finishing touches," explains Linnea as she places a few leaves in my messy hair. I found it quite ironic that Vic combed it so neatly, only for Linnea to destroy it. Guess the joke is on him.

Linnea opens the door and we exit the room. I follow her down a long, white hallway until we see Blight, who's pacing back and forth in front of a door.

"Doesn't he look great!" yodels Linnea, her voice raising a few octets.

Blight's eyes find mine and he grins. I know what he's thinking, it's obvious. _Trees again. _

"You look very nice Oakley," compliments Blight, "Oh, and well done Linnea."

Linnea doesn't seem pleased by his reaction, which makes me chuckle. Was she really expecting him to drool over her "dazzling" costume?

"Well let's get him to the chariot?" instructs Blight as he turns and exits through the door.

Inside, the room is filled with chariots and my competition. Today will be the first time all the tributes see each other. Today will be the day for first impressions.

I follow Linnea and Blight down the lane, passing chariots, one after the other. As I pass, I try to glance at each districts costumes. Most are boring like District 12's coal miner and District 11's farmer.

As District 11 fades, I gulp down a lump of saliva. District 10. The district of Boarus, the beefy red head that towers over six feet. As if his stature isn't enough to cause his competition to tremble with fear, just add a disturbing costume.

District 10's costumes consists of meat. Raw steaks, sausages, and bacon all hanging on their muscular bodies. I'm speechless at the strange site, yet at the same time, I envy them. Their costume will stand out tonight in the opening ceremonies, while mine, like most, will be forgotten.

Passing by District 9 and 8's chariots I start to feel anxious. It's almost time for the parade and I don't know if I'm ready. Tonight is crucial, because what we do tonight could affect us the whole games. What we do tonight could mean life or death once we're in the arena.

As District 8's chariot fades, our chariot approaches, and in it is Riley. She's dressed the same as I, except a smaller bush is weaved around her chest. Examining the rest of her costume, I notice that heavy, brown make up has been applied over her ribcage. I'm guessing this is an attempt to hide how malnourished she is.

As I go to get into the chariot, I feel a hand grab my arm. Turning I see Blight, his brown eyes glaring into mine. "Remember what I told you on the train Oakley. Work the crowd."

And with those words he leaves, Johanna and Riley's Stylist following. Linnea on the other hand doesn't leave, instead she waves and blows kisses. She continues this charade until finally someone has to escort her to an exit. I sigh with embarrassment as my stylist is taken away.

_Why did I have to get her? _

I feel a sudden jolt and I know it's time. I hold myself steady as our chariot begins to move. Our chariot is controlled by two steeds, steeds that move the chariot without guidance. I like to think they have the routine memorized or they've been genetically altered by the Capitol to perform this task.

My mind attempts to scatter as we approach the gates, but I can't let it. I have to act composed. Instead of panicking, I play Blight's advice over and over again in my head. _Work the crowd. Work the crowd._ "I have to work the crowd."

"What was that?"

I turn to look at Riley, her face wearing a mask of confusion. Why is she looking at me like that? What did I do?

"Huh?" I ask.

"I'm guessing you were talking to yourself," she chuckles, and for a second she doesn't seem dangerous or creepy, just a girl who's laughing with a friend. "So what did you say?"

"Oh that, it was nothing," I laugh. "I was just trying to give myself a pep talk so I don't make a complete fool of myself."

"So I'm guessing you're nervous too," remarks Riley, her hollow eyes gazing into mine.

Looking into her eyes I think._How could someone who's alive have eyes like that? _

"Yeah," I mutter, "Extremely."

"Me too," she sighs. "I wish this never would have happened to me."

"Don't we all," I say, a grin slipping upon my lips.

I wish this would have never happened to me too. I wish I was back home eating by the fire place with my parents, or cutting wood for Mrs. Willows, or even helping Levon and Axel repair a roof in the rain. Anywhere would be better than here.

But here is where I am, and it's where I will remain until the Games begin.

"Oakley?"

"Yeah," I answer softly.

"Are you scared to die?"

The sound of her words makes my heart drop. I wasn't expecting that.

I let out a loud cough, "Umm…I guess I am, but honestly Riley, I don't plan on dying any time soon."

"I know I am," she says, her head hanging low.

Looking at her, I feel pity. How could she say that? Does she not want to live? Does she not want to return home to see her family?

"You don't think you can win?" I ask.

"I don't want to win," she admits.

"Why not?"

"Winning won't make my life any easier Oakley."

Hearing her words, I can't help but think. _Sure it will. Winning will grant you immunity from the torture of the Capitol._

"Winning the Hunger Games will only make me a murderer - a murderer who won't be able to sleep at night."

I look into Riley's eyes, puzzled by her response. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to understand her way of thinking.

"You really think you won't dream about them, the people you kill in the arena," answers Riley. "You honestly think you can kill someone and it won't be on your conscience?" Her eyes glower into mine as if she's trying to read my soul. I stare back, and that's when I notice the water forming in her eyes.

How could someone so strong and mysterious act so broken at a time like this?

Wait.

Johanna acted broken. She wanted people to pity her. She said she couldn't win, even wept during her interview about how hopeless she was.

Then it hits me, Riley is just another Johanna. She's just another liar, just another girl working whatever angle she can to win.

"Nice acting Riley," I hiss, anger surging through my bones. Did this girl take me as a fool? Did she really think I would fall for the whole "weak" act?

"What are you taking about?" baffles Riley. "I'm not acting you fool! I'm being honest."

"Sure," I answer, turning myself forward to face the gates.

I'm done talking to Riley.

And more importantly, I'm done feeling pity for a liar.

* * *

**A/N: Well...I'm back, sorry it's been so long since I've updated, but college has been hectic and I haven't had much time to write. BUT I have a two week break before next semester, so I'm hoping to update again quite soon :D. **

**I would like to say thank you to luvakatsuki3, who is my beta (she really does an amazing job - fixes all my tedious errors.) Also, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, and I hope you guys keep them coming! :) **

**And like always: Read, review, but most importantly enjoy. :) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

Bright, white lights shine all over the auditorium. I squint as I take in the roaring sound of people. Not just people, but the charismatic Capitol people. _This is unbelievable_, I think as I awe at the huge screens dangling from the plush ceiling. They're so magnificent and shiny, much shinier than any T.V we have back in District 7. Staring into the screen, I imagine each tribute appearing on it, one by one, flickering by with a plastered smile and glossy eyes.

The first on the screen are the tributes from District 1. The two blondes are covered in gold paint from head to toe. And it appears that their stylists have left nothing for the imagination. When I say nothing, I mean _nothing_.

My eyes shift from the flirtatious blonde – who's causing an uproar from the crowd; she'll definitely get sponsors working the sexy angle – to Glitz. Unlike his partner, his face isn't splashed with a white, pearly smile, but just a simple grin. A grin that seems deadly.

Next on the screen are the District 2 tributes, who are dressed like barbarians. The boy is well in stature and, by the way he's acting, I can tell he's going to be an arrogant one. I watch as he constantly flexes his bulging muscles, which causes the crowd to scream. _Someone's quite full of themselves_, I think as my eyes turn to his district partner – a girl with jagged brown hair and a rugged smile.

The District 3 tributes' costumes consist of a metallic, grey jumpsuit, which doesn't look at all comfortable. I'm glad it's them wearing it and not me.

Glancing at the two fragile framed tributes, the girl catches my eye immediately. _Watch the careers, but study the underdog, _I smile, remembering my friend Axel's quote. He said that quote the year Johanna won. He was the only one amongst us that thought she'd win. I wonder what he's thinking now.

I notice that behind strands of auburn hair are willow colored eyes. Eyes that show this one has wits; eyes that show this one has an agenda. _Study the girl from District 3,_ I think_. _

I can't help but groan as I watch the two District 4 tributes wave and blow kisses to the star struck crowd. They're both charming, I'll give them that. And with the boy having the body of a physical masterpiece, it's only going to add to their already "perfect" facade. Not to be outshined, his partner is flipping her wavy red hair, which is braided with dazzling pearls and sparkling seashells, as she winks to her fans.

Blinded by my aweing at all the other tributes, I'm oblivious that we've entered the runway. I stand in shock when I see my clueless face staring back at me. _Great, there goes my shot at a spotless performance,_ I think, as I try to squeeze out a natural smile.

As our chariot drifts down the runway, I wave and smile to all the people – some screaming my name, some just screaming frivolous words. I've never had this much attention before, ever. I wonder if this is what the life of a victor is like, getting praised twenty-four seven. People blowing you kisses and all but fainting when you enter the room.

My waving ceases when we reach the end of our destination: The President's Box. I believe they call it something else, but I can't remember what. The box consists of our President and the Gamemakers. In other words, all the people who make our lives hell while in the arena. As if dealing with deluded careers isn't enough.

Waiting for us is a skinny man with a white beard and bright, red lips. When all the tributes reach the end of the runway, he will give a speech. This man is the reason for the Hunger Games. This man is our President. President Snow.

When the District 12 Chariot finally arrives, President Snow steps up onto his platform and begins. "We commend you here today," he starts, "For your bravery. But more importantly, for bringing honor upon your districts. It is truly a privilege to be in the presence of such selfless young men and woman." He stops, clearing his throat. "The vast country of Panem salutes you for this sight of justice. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be so ever in your favor!"

The chariots guide us out of the colossal auditorium. I sigh with relief as we move away from the maniac crowd. _It's over,_ I think. _Now I just have to survive the interview. _

After the chariots pull to a halt, I climb down – eager to get out of this ridiculous costume and back into my normal clothes. But before I have time to make a step, a step in any direction, I'm surrounded by a swarm. By swarm I mean Blight, Gabby, Johanna, Linnea, and Baret, whose Riley's stylist.

"You did wonderful Oakley!" praises Linnea. "The Crowd just loves you!"

"I wouldn't go that far," grumbles Johanna, which earns a death stare from Gabby.

"Thanks," I answer. "I just hope I made an impression with the sponsors."

"I imagine you did fine Oakley, so don't fret about it anymore," reassures Gabby as she applies another layer of lipstick. "Besides, it's time for me to show you where you'll be staying! I bet you two are just dying to see your new quarters!" Her voice screeches so high I imagine glass shattering into a million pieces. If only my eardrums were that lucky.

Riley and I follow Gabby to the Training Center – the building where we will both train and live until we enter the arena. The Training Center has twelve floors, not counting the gym, which is where we'll do our training and private sessions. Every District is assigned a floor, so, considering we're from District 7, we've been assigned to live on the seventh floor.

As we follow Gabby into a glass elevator, I feel shaky; this is my first time riding an elevator and I'm a little nervous. The slight jolt as we ascend makes me a little queasy. Hopefully, I'll get over this eerie feeling, because from the looks of it, this is our only means of transportation to and from training. Great.

A bell rings and the translucent doors slide open. What lies behind them is something unbelievable. Something of a fantasy.

"It's beautiful," I gasp as I step into the cosmic room. The first thing to catch my eye is a diamond chandelier dangling from the ceiling. It's so polished I can almost see my reflection.

Below the chandelier is a purple, leather couch, and, directly in front of the couch, a plasma television. This must be the room where we'll watch our scores and the recap of the interviews. I have a feeling this is either going to be the best or worst room in the house. Best if I receive a decent score; worst if my score is miserably low. I'm hoping for the former.

Gabby giggles at our drooling faces, but then prances by, anxiously waving her hands for us to follow. The next room we enter is just as marvelous as the other. In the room is a golden table surrounded by six blue chairs. On the walls hang stunning paintings of flowers. Staring at them, I'm astonished by the sight of all the different shades of orange, yellow, and green; how is everything so beautiful here?

"This is the dining room," says Gabby. "We will be eating in here within the hour," she pauses, taking the time to glare at Riley and me, as if saying "don't be late". "Now that we've established that, let me show you to your rooms so you can get cleaned up."

We follow Gabby out of the room and down a serpentine hallway until we reach two doors, one on the left and another on the right. "Oakley your's is the left," commands Gabby as she points at my door, "And Riley you're on the right. See you both in an hour!"

I grab the cold door knob and go to twist, but Riley's voice stops me.

"Hey."

Silence.

"I just wanted to say I'm not acting. I know it may look that way with Johanna as my mentor, but," she stutters, her voice breaking, "I'm really not, I swear."

Thoughts cloud my mind, and I don't know what to think. Is she lying or telling the truth? Is this a game to her? Was I right? Wrong? Was I too quick to judge?

Instead of speaking, I just twist the knob and sling myself into the room, fleeing her presence. I need to think_,_ I tell myself. Analyze the situation.

Once inside, I strip off my costume, dropping it onto the floor. I'll make sure to pile my clothes up in a corner tonight. I don't want to cause another mess for the avoxes; they have hard enough jobs as it is.

Looking around my quarters, I'm speechless at how nice it is. The room consists of huge bed, which is like two of the one I have back home, a chestnut dresser and small table, along with another plasma TV and a metallic remote.

Deciding to investigate my room more thoroughly tonight, I walk over to the bathroom, a room that is almost as big as my quarters itself. The marble sinks and walk in shower blow my mind. Nothing is ordinary in the Capitol, nothing, not even the toilets. I glance over to the golden toilet and chuckle. What do they think goes in that thing, treasure?

After I rinse my face in the sink, washing it free from all the alterations, I walk over to the dresser, pulling open the first drawer to find it's packed with clothes. Instead of goggling over all my options, I just decide to grab the top two articles of clothing, which happens to be a red sweater and a pair of khakis.

Now dressed, I hurriedly stride over to the door. _I can't be late, _I think, _orGabby will kill me._

Dashing out the door, I slam to a stop when my body smashes into the wall. No. Not the wall.

Riley.

Our bodies awkwardly collide and we tumble to the floor. Laying on my chest is Riley, her eyes staring coldly into mine, our tongues remaining mute. This isn't good.

With a grunt Riley heaves herself up, brushing off her green shirt as she stands. I can't help but blush as I get to my feet. This is beyond awkward.

"I get you don't like me," she hisses, "but there's no need to deliberately try and cause me harm."

___Harm? _I think_. _It was an accident. I didn't even see her there. Besides, just because I don't like her doesn't mean I would deliberately try to cause her harm. I'm not cruel like the careers, I don't want to deliberately hurt anyone.

"I apologize," I mutter. "I honestly didn't see you there."

"Sure," she sighs.

"I didn't!" I yell.

"Why should I believe you?" chokes Riley, her hollow eyes avoiding mine and her voice becoming barely audible. "You wouldn't believe me."

There it is. The moment when I realize this girl is not another Johanna. The moment I realize that she's not a liar – she's not pretending to be weak. _This girl isn't acting_, I think, starring into her eyes. _She's really broken_. But why?

"I was wrong," I say.

"Wrong?" she growls, her voice returning back to normal as if the moment of weakness was a mistake, a glitch in her wiring.

"About you," I murmur.

"What were you wrong about?" she jokes.

"About you being like Johanna," I answer. "About you acting."

"How do you know I'm not?" she asks.

What's with this girl? One minute she's telling me she's not acting, the next, she's saying she is. Which one is it? Ah, who cares! I'm tired of this game. This was a mistake. A huge one.

I turn away from Riley, heading back down the hallway. I did my part. I apologized. I owe her nothing now. No more time, answers - nothing.

"Oakley, wait."

I stop, which Riley will this one be, the girl who seems to have a heart or the one whose eyes are so cold they could freeze ice?

I turn around, looking into her hazel eyes, expecting a cold glare, but it isn't there. The dullness neither. Or the hollow gaze. Something seems different. Maybe she's changed. Maybe she does have a heart.

"Oakley, can we just start over."

I look down at her pale extended hand, which is hanging loosely in the air. Her polished finger nails streaked with brown paint.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? Why can't I just walk away?

"Because back home I had no friends, I pushed them all away when my mother died," she says, "And now I'm tired. Tired of holding a grudge to the Capitol. Tired of being alone. Tired of living in fear, Oakley," she pauses, giving me serious look. "I've decided that if I'm going to die, I want to die with at least one friend." She smiles at me, but it seems unnatural and forced – her lips crinkling and her teeth barely poking through.

"Why now?" I ask. Here I go again, asking another question. When will I learn?

"Because now seemed like the perfect opportunity," she mutters.

When I was younger, my mother told me to never judge a book by its cover. And that if you do, you may end up being surprised. Well, here I stand, and I'm surprised.

"So what do you say?" asks Riley, her hand still floating loosely in the air.

"I say," I start, a grin sneaking its way on my face as I shake her hand. "Why not."

We walk in silence for the longest time until Riley speaks. Her voice catches me at such a surprise I nearly jump. "So Oakley, what did you bring from home as your token?"

___Token?_ I think. _I don't have one._ During the goodbyes I didn't get anything; my parents had nothing to give me, even if I did want something. We don't exactly have anything that's "token" material.

"I didn't bring anything," I mumble.

"What?" Riley looks at me, her face smeared with confusion. "Why not?"

"Guess I just forgot." I lie, hoping she'll stop the conversation here. I know how it feels now to be the one getting asked the questions. It isn't fun.

"Well, looks like you're in luck Oakley Timmons."

In luck?

Before I have time to speak, Riley has reached into her pocked and pulled out two small balls laced with pine needles and tree sap. Their Pinst. The things we use to scent our houses and to keep the younger kids occupied.

The smell of the pinst lingers in the air, and it reminds me of home. Of my parents. Of all the things I've left. Of all the things I love.

"Here, now you have a token," says Riley as she slides one of the pinst into my hand. I can't help but freeze. What just happened? What is all of this? Why is she doing this?

"Are you sure?" I ask. "I mean you don't have to; I don't want your sympathy."

"You're not getting it," she answers. "Just take the ball and say thank you. No questions for once."

My face turns three shades of red as I look at her and smile, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she smiles back, this time a more natural one. Looking at her, I can't get over at how she's changed, and so fast. It's almost unbelievable, unreal, like she's a completely different person. Or was she like this before the reaping? Before her mother's death?

When we walk into the dining room, our mentors, escort, and stylists are already at the table, waiting. "I said one hour!" barks Gabby, a vein in her neck bulging out the size of an earthworm. "Sit." After her threat, I hurry and sit, quickly flopping down in the nearest chair. As soon as we sit, an avox begins serving us Dinner.

Dinner consists of a pasty soup, which is really thick and tastes like peppers, a roasted chicken on golden rice, and chocolate cake, which I didn't eat because I had two helpings of the chicken and golden rice. I feel like I'm going to explode, like a bomb waiting to go off. A bomb full of rice and chicken.

After dinner, I lean back in my chair, listening to all the small talk. I hear the stylists talking about the other districts' costumes at the parade, which ones were exquisite and which ones were boring. I hear Johanna and Blight taking about tomorrow and strategy.

Then I butt in.

"What's my strategy?" I ask. "What should I do tomorrow in training?"

"Strategy?" Blight questions.

"Yeah," I chuckle, "like what stations should I visit."

"Go to the hammock making station," laughs Johanna. "That sounds like a skill worthy for you."

Ignoring Johanna's rude comment, Blight starts, "Well, what are you good at?"

By now, the whole room is listening to our conversation. I'm guessing they want to know my skills. What I'm good at.

"I'm decent with an ax," I answer.

"What else," adds Blight.

"Well, I know a few things about edible plants, but that's it," I say, wondering when the advice comes.

"I suggest you spend some time in the edible plants station along with the snare station. You may have to find or catch your own food if you don't get anything from the cornucopia," says Blight.

"Oh!" gasps Gabby, "And make sure you show them you're skilled with the ax!"

I glance over to Blight, searching for his in take on Gabby's random suggestions.

"The Careers do it," states Baret, who before now I've never heard speak.

"What could it hurt?" says Blight, grinning. "I mean, why not show off like the Careers, they tend to get high scores in training, so maybe showing off your skill before the private sessions may add to yours too."

Does that mean I need to act like a Career? Go straight to the weapon stations and start slashing things to pieces? What happens if they ask me to join the alliance? Should I say "yes" or "no"?

"So show them everything?" I ask, still a little weary by this whole strategy.

"Show them enough," mutters Blight. "Enough that they'll notice you."

As if timed, a yawn slips through my lips and instantly I feel embarrassed. I wait for Gabby to say something about manners, but she doesn't. She must be either too tired to care or she didn't hear me.

The room goes quite, then Gabby speaks. She getting quite good at breaking the awkward silence. My guess is because she's the only one who dislikes it.

"Well, it's getting late and you two should be getting some rest, but before you go, I'd like to ask for your tokens," says Gabby. "We need to get them approved by the board before you're allowed to take them into the arena. And the sooner we get them the better!"

Riley and I hand over our tokens, which makes Gabby smile. I have no idea why, maybe because we did it so freely or maybe because she's grown delusional from exhaustion. It's apparent that we're all tired – you can practically see it on our faces.

"Same token," grumbles Johanna. "Well that seems odd."

"Great minds think alike," retorts Riley, her eyes flickering over to me then back to her plate.

___Why didn't she just tell them_, I think. What does she have to hide? Or better yet, what do we have to hide? She gave me a token, big deal, doesn't mean anything special, does it?

I walk back down the hallway, this time alone, and wonder about my first day of training. The first day when our skills will be put to the test.

When I get to my room, I strip off my clothes and take a quick shower. This shower was much better than my first. No smell of _roses _this time_._ Even thinking the word makes my stomach cringe. Oh, how I hate that vile smell.

Once I'm dried off, I slip on a pair of silk pants and walk over to the bed, entrapping myself within the soft sheets. As I lay my head back on the feathery pillow, it doesn't take long for my eyelids to flutter shut, for everything to go black; to get lost in the darkness.

I awake before the knocking, which is good. I'd rather not wake to the sound of violent beating on my door every morning.

Climbing out of bed, I walk over to find that Linnea has my clothes for training already laid out. After slipping on the material, a loose fitting shirt and tight pants, I make my way over to the door, only stopping to lace up my boots.

Once I'm dressed, I'm out the door. The serpentine hallway seems longer this morning, but maybe that's because my mind isn't clouded with thoughts.

When I arrive in the dining room, I'm surprised to see I'm not the first person here. Gabby is already at the table, powdering her nose. My guess is she hasn't "officially" put her face on yet. I chuckle at my sarcasm, which catches Gabby's attention.

"Oakley!" she squeals. "It's so nice to see someone else getting an early start on the day!" She pauses, adding few more touch-ups to her makeup. "So are you excited about your first day of training?"

"Yes," I lie. "I'm ready to show the Gamemakers what I'm made of."

"That's the spirit!" sings Gabby as she pulls out a tube of lipstick and starts painting her lips red. "I'm going to escort you and Riley down to the training center once we've eaten."

"Sounds good," I answer.

After our conversation, I have a seat at the table. An avox fills my two drinking glasses with orange juice and milk. The man then pours some blue mush into my bowl. When the mush hits the bowl, I make a face. _What is this?_ I think as I stare down into the blue clumpy mush.

"It's only blueberry oatmeal," teases Gabby. "It's no different than the slop you eat back home." Her obnoxious laughs follows, and for a second, I think about shoving this "blueberry oatmeal" down her windpipe. Bet she'll stop laughing then.

Taking a spoonful of the oatmeal, I realize it isn't that bad, and within a few minutes, I've devoured it. With the snake of hunger still lashing in my stomach I take a few pieces of bacon off the metal tray and slide them onto my plate. Within seconds, I devoured that too. I finish my meal with some sliced oranges and apples, and by now everyone else is in the room fixing their plates.

Gabby, after asking Riley how she slept and Johanna about how many sheep she killed, instead of counted, glances up at the clock, then frantically stands, "Riley, Oakley; we need to go now or we're going to be late!"

Gabby then clatters – in her red high heels – over to the elevator. I get up from my chair and follow my speedy escort.

As soon as we get into the elevator my intestines turn to knots. I'm nervous. Extremely nervous.

The elevator doors open and Gabby dashes out, ushering us to follow quickly. She still hasn't gotten a full grip on the whole "escorting" thing. Between us running and my nerves, I'm surprised the _slop_ has stayed down.

"Well I'm glad we aren't the last ones here," sighs Gabby as she leads us over to a silver table where two Capitol people sit. After we check in, they hand us a piece of cloth with our district number on it, which I pin onto my shirt.

I make my way to the middle of the room where the rest of the tributes have gathered. The gym is so quite you could hear a pin drop. Well, besides a few faint voices, the room sings of silence.

Looking around, I glance at my competition: a bunch of under fed kids, who are standing awkwardly around the room. I notice the only ones standing together are the Careers. I watch cautiously as they grin and point at all the deadly weapons. They can't wait for the slaughter.

The instructor tells us we will begin soon, and a bundle of nerves begin to build up in my chest. Trying to take my mind off what is ahead, I scan the training center. I see to my left, a balcony and in it, the Gamemakers, each one sitting in a chair with a clip board and pen in hand, waiting to start the evaluations. I continue scanning the room, hoping to find what I'm looking for and then that's when I see it. An ax.

I've learned from watching other Games that when a tribute excels with a weapon that weapon is more than likely in the arena. The Gamemakers always want a good show, right? So that's what I have to do; excel with a weapon. Excel with the ax.

The elevator bell rings and I turn to see the last stragglers dragging in. After they get their numbers pinned on, a dark skinned woman steps up on a block and begins speaking. "My name is Atala," she says. "And I am the head trainer here. Before we begin, I have a few rules and suggestions for you. First, there will be four compulsory exercises, the rest individual. Second, no fighting with the other tributes. Third, don't ignore the survivor skills. Everyone wants to grab a blade but a blade isn't the only thing that can kill in the arena. Twenty-three of you will be dead in a week and how you die may not necessarily be by a blade. Many of you will die by natural causes, ten percent from infection, and twenty percent from dehydration." After she finishes, she blows a whistle, signaling us to begin.

The Career tributes head straight to the weapon stations. I watch in anger as the arrogant boy from 2 grabs my ax and starts dismembering the closest dummy. A strike of fear flashes in front of my eyes as I watch his powerful swings crush the foam manikin. How can I compete with that? How can I compete against someone trained to kill?

Deciding to come back to the ax, I make my way over to the edible plants station. When I get there I begin studying all the herbs, berries, and nuts that you can eat. I flip through page after page, examining every plant. Surely, the Gamemakers will put poisonous plants in the arena, and if they do, I won't fall into their traps.

Next, I memorize every plant or root that deals with infection and burns, these plants will be the most valuable. These plants will be the ones that save my life in the arena. Knowing these plants are key.

I look up from the book to see that I'm not the only one in this station. The young boy from District 6 and the girl from District 9 are also here. Both vigorously stuffing their heads in books. _Looks like I'm not the only one with a strategy_, I think, a smirk perching upon my lips.

The next station I decide to visit is the snares, like Blight suggested. The bonus is that the girl from district 3 is there too. I've decided to nickname her Tink, after watching her do nothing but tinker with one snare all day. Examining the snare, I don't see what's so extraordinary about it. Why she's spending so much time on just that one. It doesn't look special.

I've come to the decision that when it comes to snares, I suck. Even the instructor took the time to show me step by step how to make the most basic snares, and I still couldn't do it. My wires always become tangled and my knots loose. Accepting defeat, I decide to venture to another station, but before I can get there, I'm interrupted by an announcement.

"It's time for your first compulsory exercise," announces Atala. As soon as I hear her words my heart sinks. Sinks deep down in my chest, burrowing under my ribcage. This is the first exercise where we get to see each other perform. The first exercise where the Gamemakers start labeling the weak. I cringe as I wrap my hand around the ruff rope, hoisting myself into the air.

_Here I go_, I think. _Please don't label me as weak._

* * *

**A/N: So to make up for the long wait, I wrote an extremely long chapter. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. :) Also, I have a few questions for you. **

**1. What do you guys think of Riley now? **

**2. Are then any other tributes that interest you (there will be more tributes introduced in the next chapter)? (Boarus, Glitz, Tink, etc) **

**3. Who's your favorite character so far in the story? **

**I would like to say thank you to luvakatsuki3, who is my beta (she really does an amazing job - fixes all my tedious errors.) Also, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, and I hope you guys keep them coming! :) **

**And like always: Read, review, but most importantly enjoy. :) **


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